fragMents
by 8ucky8arnes
Summary: A series of one-shots focusing on the mutants in the Underground throughout Season 2.
1. unteMpered

Takes place after 2x01

* * *

Clarice barely negated her flinch when John opened the door a little harder than necessary, saying nothing as he strode through the dark apartment and into their bedroom with a stormy expression. She shut the front door softly and slid the lock in.

She pulled out the handful of candles stashed under the sink, setting them up on the counter and the coffee table. Clarice lit them all pretty quickly, the gesture more for her and Christina's benefit than John's…

Zingo trotted over, looking up with sad eyes and wined.

She scratched behind her ears, "I know, girl. I know."

Clarice straightened with a sigh, walking over to the kitchen and opening the fridge. She eyed the beers for only a heartbeat before grabbing one and fishing out the bottle opener, falling back onto the couch.

She took a long swig, draining nearly half the bottle before she took a breath.

" _Is she dead? The baby?" Marcos' voice was brittle, "What does it mean, John?"_

" _I don't…I don't know, brother."_

Clarice shuddered, taking another long drink, as though the alcohol would alleviate the coldness that had been sitting in her stomach like a rock since they'd left that dark, empty street corner. She gripped the bottle tightly, blinking back tears.

Lorna couldn't be gone. The baby couldn't be…

She shook her head and tried not to think of those statements as final. Even with everything that had happened, Clarice liked to believe her and Lorna were friends. Opposite sides or no, she didn't want her friend and an innocent child to be gone. She'd seen too much loss in her life for that to compute.

Clarice drained the rest of the bottle and let out a long breath.

 _She couldn't be gone…_

The sound of breaking glass had her head snapping up, not having heard John renter the room.

The remains of the cup glittered on the countertop, water dripping from his curled hand.

She stood immediately, "John?"

He clenched his jaw and didn't move as she approached.

Clarice reached around him for the dish towel, "It's alright. I can clean it-"

"Leave it."

"It's fine." She frowned, "I can get it…"

"Just _leave_ it."

She bit back a harsh _excuse me_ when she finally met his eyes, an unfamiliar storm of emotions burning in those depths. Clarice sucked in a sharp breath at the heat radiating from him and she didn't dare make a move to touch him. "John…"

He shook his head, stepping around her.

She spun, voice rising slightly, "John, just _talk_ to me."

"Later. We can talk later."

She finally noticed his change of clothing, now dark sweats and hoodie and tennis shoes. Clarice made a half-aborted motion to reach out but dropped her arm when he pulled open the door (breaking the lock) and once again slammed it shut.

She jumped at the noise, running a hand down her face with a sigh, "Damn it."

The door to the second bedroom opened, Christina hesitantly poking her head out.

"I'm sorry, did we-?"

The girl shook her head, "I couldn't sleep anyway."

Clarice didn't say anything, instead watching the girl's eyes drift to the broken glass then the door. She hadn't known Christina long, but the girl knew instantly that something had gone terribly wrong. "Could you grab the trash can for me?"

"Sure." She dragged it over, lifting it until the rim rested against the edge of the counter.

Clarice grabbed the dish towel and carefully brushed the glass into the half-full bag, glad that the shards weren't too small as she examined the countertop closely before she tossed the glass-littered towel in the trash. She wiped down the counter with a wad of paper towels before throwing them away as well, returning the trash can to its original place. "Thank you, Christina."

"It's no problem." She messed with the gauze on her right hand, glancing at the door.

Clarice felt eyes on her as she replaced the lid, "You can ask. I won't get mad."

She worried her lip, "Something bad happened…didn't it?"

Clarice sighed, "Maybe."

Her eyebrows pulled together, "Maybe?"

She recalled John's hesitation, the heaviness in his voice as he called Marcos _brother_. It was the first time Clarice had ever heard John use that word for his friend and it told Clarice of the depth of the relationship between the three, casting the night in a new _horrible_ light. "John was tracking someone he really cared about and he lost her trail."

Her response was hesitant, "I thought you said he could find anyone."

Clarice looked down at the door, "He usually can."

"Even if they're dead?"

Clarice's eyes snapped up, her body stiffening at the question. She'd never asked him that specifically, but she figured that the fact that a dead person could no longer make a trail would probably make it easier for him to track. "Even if they're dead."

Thoughtful brown eyes watched the flames, "The power outage?"

She was impressed at how quickly the girl had put the pieces together, "She was pregnant and her abilities were very…far-reaching. She'd gone into labor and it was affecting the power lines. John was tracking her through them when everything went black."

Her eyes widened, "You don't know where they are or if they're alive."

Clarice let out another long breath, "Yeah."

She looked over at the door, "Where did he go?"

"He went out for a run I think." _I hope._ Clarice knew that his coping mechanisms hadn't always been geared to _just_ running. She prayed John wouldn't do something stupid, but with the weight of him losing Lorna's trail and the uncertainty that came with it…she wasn't so sure. "He'll be back in a few hours. I wouldn't worry."

Christina seemed skeptical.

Clarice cleared her throat, "How's your hand?"

She shrugged, "Caitlyn gave me some pain meds before you all left so…"

Zingo chose that moment to lick the fingers on her bandaged hand.

Christina looked down with a small, sad smile, like she'd been reminded of something, and it seemed to snap the two out of the awkward conversation, "I guess I should try to get some sleep, unless you want me to…"

She waved off the girl's concern, "No, go 'head. I don't want to keep you up."

She swallowed and turned, "Alright. Good night, Clarice."

"Good night, Christina."

Zingo trotted after the girl, Clarice shutting down Christina's worry with a shake of her head and watched the two until the door quietly clicked shut. That dog always knew who needed her presence the most…

She sat down on the couch, curling herself into a ball and resting her chin on her knees. Clarice stared at the flickering candles, the soft glow and black shadows reminiscent of the light and heat that had poured from Marcos' hands, softening the asphalt beneath him as he screamed…

Clarice stood, shoving the thoughts vehemently from her mind.

She couldn't just sit and wait for John to come back, but she sure as hell wasn't going to try falling asleep. Her mind was too much of a mess at the moment for either option so she settled for tidying up the apartment: washing the few dishes, straightening the two bar stools and refolding the blanket on the back of the couch half a dozen times.

She blew out the candles, keeping one lit as she moved to their bedroom, changing into one of John's shirts and attempting to start one of the crappy romance novels Lauren had recommended months ago on some of their longer, uneventful drives but the words kept running together. Frustrated, she almost portaled the book off the roof when the doorknob turned.

Clarice was silent as she set the book aside, John entering the room like a silent shadow.

He looked up at the movement.

The look in his eyes was the opposite of when he had left hours before, his gaze somber and hollow. His hair stuck to his temples and the back of his neck, unbound from the bun he'd had it up in. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, his shoulders tense as he turned away from her.

She got off the bed, cautiously approaching him. "John…please don't hide from me."

He lowered his head and said nothing.

Clarice pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her forehead between his shoulder blades. His skin was blazing hot through the cotton, the fabric damp with sweat and smelling of…rusted metal and dust? It reminded her of the years on the streets of Atlanta, hiding in one abandoned warehouse after pulled back slowly, "John…where did you go? And don't tell me it was just _a run_."

His body stiffened. "Clarice…"

She took note of his hoarse voice and softened her own, "John… _please_."

He moved so quickly, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug like he was afraid she'd disappear and buried his face in her neck. He murmured inaudible words into her skin, fingers threading through her hair.

She froze when she felt tears, hands coming up to cup his face, "Hey…hey look at me."

He lifted his eyes, glistening with moisture.

There were so many things she wanted to say to him in that moment, but all the placating words and condolences in the world wouldn't make him feel any better. He wouldn't really hear them anyway, too lost in his own head… "Why don't you go take a shower? I'll wait for you."

He just kept staring at her, jaw tightly clenched.

She brushed a tear away, "I'm not going to disappear, alright?"

He nodded, finally walking to the bathroom and shutting the door.

Clarice listened to the running water, blinking back tears of her own and trying to compose herself before he came out. If he saw how upset she was, he'd push his feelings to the side like they didn't even matter. She wasn't going to let that happen. John deserved to fall apart like the rest of them.

The shower turned off, John stepping out in a tank top and shorts with hair still dripping.

Standing at the corner of the bed, she held out a hand.

His fingers hovered over her open palm and that's when she saw the bruises.

She knew just how much force it took to cause even the smallest mark on his skin and the fact that they were confined solely to his knuckles was even more concerning. She almost wished she'd seen his hands before the shower so she had an idea of what hell he'd punched… Clarice slid her fingers through his and tugged, "Come on."

He sat down on the edge of the bed with her, their sides practically glued together.

She turned their hands over, "Wanna talk about these?"

John grimaced, "I didn't hurt anyone if that's what you're-"

"I never thought you did," she reached up with her other hand to tap his temple, keeping her voice soft, "I just want to know what's going on in that head of yours."

His gaze went distant and for a moment, Clarice feared she'd pushed too much before he came back to himself, wetting his lips and clearing his throat. She tried not to notice the puffiness around his bloodshot eyes as he finally spoke.

"Over the years…" he looked down at their hands, "I lost so many people to things that could never harm me, to things _I_ could see coming and it made me so… _angry._ " The word was ground out between clenched teeth and he shook his head, the hardness leaving him with a heavy sigh, "And fighting was the only way I knew how to channel it."

She stayed silent, running a thumb along the bruised knuckles.

"I failed them, Clarice." His voice cracked after nearly a whole minute of silence, "Lorna is my sister in everything but blood. We worked together for years and when she and Marcos were together, I'd never seen either of them so hopeful."

Clarice felt him stiffen, but she didn't move away.

He shut his eyes tightly, like he was trying to block out a painful memory. "All I could see was that green arch of electricity vanishing…all I could hear was Marcos screaming…all I could smell was the asphalt burning under his fists and no matter how fast or how far I ran I couldn't get it out of my head."

She squeezed his hand as hard as she could when he began to shake, "Look at me, John."

He turned his head, eyes downcast.

She sighed, "You don't have to go at any of this alone alright?" she reached up to cup his jaw in her free hand, "You don't have to hide anything from me. You told me all those months ago about finding my safe place. Let me be yours."

John lifted his eyes, his expression softening as he brushed her hair back. "My safe place." his fingers lightly traced the shell of her ear, some light returning to him when she leaned into the touch, "My _beautiful_ , safe place."

She'd barely had time register the words before he was kissing her.

There was no hunger or heat to it, just a steady, grounding warmth as he drew her into his lap. His hands trailed down her sides, fingertips leaving goosebumps when they met the bare skin of her legs.

She pulled back, resting her forehead against his for only a moment before she reluctantly crawled off him, moving back onto the bed and slipping under the sheets. Clarice smiled as he followed, pressing her back into his chest as an arm draped over her waist.

He kissed the back of her neck and her eyelids slipped closed as his warmth enfolded her.

She didn't know what awaited them when they awoke, but in that moment, within the safety of John's arms, Clarice knew that they would be able to face whatever oncoming trials were headed their way. Side by side.

 _Together._


	2. overwhelMed

Takes place after 2x01

* * *

She said nothing to either of her parents the drive back to the apartment, getting out of the car as soon as it parked in front of the apartments and walking ahead. She paused when Dad called out for her, shaking herself out of it as Mom tried to pick up the conversation from before Marcos' interruption.

She jogged up the stairs until she reached the roof access door, pushing a bubble between the door and the frame to jimmy the lock open. The silence was almost disturbing when she stepped out, the normally bustling city completely dark as far as she could see, but she was almost glad for it. No one could nag her up here.

No more questions about Andy or where he was or if he was okay…

Her eyes burned with tears and all Lauren wanted to do was scream.

How could her mom still want to question her about _Andy_ after everything that had just taken place? As if they didn't have enough to worry about with the constant raids, about the hundreds of mutants that they'd been unable to save. Why was she focused on the one who'd _chosen_ to leave them?

" _You're my family…I don't want to hurt you."_

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair.

There were worse things than physical pain, though. The last six months had taught her that.

Lauren was watching her family fall apart in slow motion, crumbling more and more with each passing day. Her father growing more and more distant, her mother becoming more desperate… The three of them could hardly be in a room together anymore, the hole left by Andy pushing them further from each other.

She rested her forearms on the ledge and watched as the sky began to lighten shade by shade and she belatedly wondered why he parents hadn't followed her, but the questioning thoughts faded when she looked down from the roof. The familiar setting sent the nightmare rushing back to her…

" _Why are you fighting it? This is who we are…it's who we're meant to be."_

Her hands shook and she clenched them into fists, trying to shove the fear she'd felt back. Andy had looked so…alien in that moment, a mask of stone while she screamed at him to let go. He saw how upset she was, knew how she felt about their power, and he didn't _care_ …

A choked sound escaped her throat, the world swimming as the tears finally came and she sank to the ground, pressing her back against the cool brick. She wrapped an arm around her stomach, the other hand over her mouth to stifle her sobbing.

 _It was a dream. It had to be a dream. Andy wouldn't…_

She snorted derisively at her own thoughts.

She'd told her mom the opposite earlier. That it hadn't felt like a dream, it had felt like _more._ Lauren knew they were connected through Fenris and this felt almost like an extension of that connection. Her mother's words about seeing through each other's eyes didn't help.

Lauren had seen how desperate she was for even a sliver of information, the hand that had been gentle on her shoulder squeezing as she leaned forward. She'd felt smothered and tried to back out, tried to tell her that everything had gone fuzzy, that she didn't remember anything. She thought she'd managed to convince her until she'd gone and gotten herself _shot_...

She swallowed the urge to scream in frustration.

Why did she keep treating Andy like he'd been taken? That he'd been influenced by Lorna's speech because he was too young to know any better?

She'd seen the changes in him long before her parents had. She always had growing up and this time had been no different. So Lauren knew that when Andy had walked away from the Underground, from their parents, from _her_ , that the decision had been one he'd come to on his own and it was final.

Why couldn't her mother _see_ that?

A flicker of light had her lifting her head to see the familiar purples and pinks of Clarice's portal as the violet-haired mutant stepped out onto the rooftop alone, those brilliant green eyes full of concern as she crouched down, "Hey, you alright?"

She cleared her throat, "Not really."

The woman sat down next to her, forearms resting on her knees.

Lauren looked over, "Did my parents send you to talk to me?"

If Clarice was surprised by the irritation or anger in her tone, she didn't show it. She just shook her head, "John actually. He saw you run up here when we got back…thought it would be best we gave you some time before we sent someone to check on you…"

Lauren almost smiled, grateful for his consideration. "How is he, by the way?"

Pain flashed through her eyes for a moment, "He's working through it or…trying to anyways," but she apparently hadn't fallen for Lauren trying to steer the conversation away from herself, "but we're not talking about him right now, we're talking about you. How are _you_?"

She rested her head back against the brick with a sigh, "I'm sad and…angry."

"About?"

Lauren almost held herself back, a small part of her worried she would say something to John but she shut it down pretty quickly. It was unfair of her not to trust Clarice or John, especially given recent events. "My mom. She's…obsessed with finding information on Andy. Asking me a million questions and putting herself in serious danger to get even a crumb of information on him. I'm upset because she's making excuses for him, saying that he was _taken_ when you and I both know for a fact that he made his choice on his own."

Clarice didn't say anything.

"And I'm angry with Andy leaving, for ripping our family apart and then saying he didn't want to hurt us." She shook her head as her eyes began to burn, "I'm angry at myself for being angry at him and then I feel guilty for being angry at him-"

"Lauren…"

"-and then I felt even guilty because when my mom tried to talk to me about that damn dream I almost snapped and said she should be happy because at least she knew Andy was _alive_ -"

"Lauren, take a breath."

She blinked, realizing the words that had poured out of her mouth, "Oh God, I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't." Clarice softened her voice, "I know. You're upset. Everyone's upset right now. Your parents saw what…might've happened with Lorna and got scared." She shook her head with a long sigh, that pain in her eyes returning, "John's angry for losing their trail and Marcos…"

Lauren deflated, suddenly feeling horrible for having run to the roof. "My parents…"

"Whatever John said to them last night apparently stuck. They said they'll stay back until you're ready."

She slowly got to her feet, looking at the roof access door, "What's going to happen now?"

Clarice followed suit, brushing off her jeans, "I don't know, but maybe try and talk to your parents first. Or even just be with them, show them that _you're_ still there. Because if we start resenting each other and pushing aside our feelings, there's no telling how bad things will get in the future."

"Aren't things _already_ bad?"

Clarice's gaze was heavy when she pulled open a portal to the Strucker's apartment, the expression aging her nearly a decade in that moment, "I'd be careful with that question, Lauren. Not a good idea to tempt fate."


	3. deMons

Takes place after 2x02

* * *

Clarice frowned when she woke up to a still dark bedroom and a wet nose pressing against her cheek. She brushed Zingo back as she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and really looking around the room, "John?"

She patted the empty space where he should've been, but the mattress was cold. "John?"

Clarice waited for a response, not liking the dread beginning to pool in her stomach. She reached out to turn on the lamp, slipping out of bed. She made sure to make noise as she explored the apartment, remembering just how…out of it he'd been when talking about his past and how he'd skirted her question when he'd come back from his talk with Evangeline.

He was nowhere to be found.

"Damn it."

Zingo whined, butting her hand with her head.

She didn't want to assume something was wrong. He often left to get some air after a particularly hard day, distance himself from the constant noise of the city. The dread sitting in the pit of her stomach said that this wasn't one of those times.

This was something different…something _worse_.

He'd been so tense when he recalled his past, tremors going through him as ran a comforting hand over his back and his eyes had been distant in a way that had nothing to do with his abilities…how haunted he'd looked…

She looked down at the dog, "Do you know where he went, girl?"

Zingo waved her tail.

"Is that a yes?"

She barked.

Clarice was already pulling on jeans and tennis shoes, grabbing a hoodie of her own and pulling down the hood over her face. She didn't have time for her usual precautions. She had to find John and she had to find him now.

"Come on, girl. Let's go."

…

Clarice had barely gotten a block before she felt like she was being followed, but she didn't let herself react to it. Instead, she kept her pace as even as she could, not wanting the person to give chase and she didn't want to confront them. Her eyes would give her away almost instantly…

The footfall drew closed, "Where are you going, sweetheart?"

She ignored the man, cursing her impulsiveness as she kept on walking. Clarice wasn't sure what else she expected to happen walking alone at three in the morning and prayed she wouldn't have to use the self-defense moves John had pushed her to learn…

"Babe, thank God you found her!"

Clarice didn't think she'd ever been so happy to hear Marcos' voice, she stopped when she felt his warmth soak into the side between her and the man. It was a little disconcerting to feel a body that wasn't John's against hers, but she smiled in faux relief, "Yeah, that power outage really freaked her out."

They didn't drop the charade until they turned the corner and the man walked well out of earshot.

"What the hell are you doing out here without covering your marks? You could've been caught!"

She snorted, "You're the one to talk."

He pursed his lips, "Does John know you're out here?"

Clarice nearly brushed off her hood, running a hand down her face with a sigh, "No, that would require him being in the apartment when I left… So are you going to help me find him or are you just going to keep asking questions?"

His expression shifted and he said nothing.

She frowned, "Would this have anything to do with the talk you all had with Evangeline?"

He looked away for just a second and Clarice knew she wasn't far off the mark.

Clarice felt a protective anger rise in her as she remembered just how quiet he got when he told her about his first meeting with the woman: the fight clubs, the pills, how he'd been chained to the bed as he went through the painful process of detox…

" _That was the worst time of my life." His voice shook as he buried his head in the pillow, eyes squeezed shut for only a second, "But she got me through it."_

 _She gently ran a hand through his hair, "Well, if she did it once, she can do it again. Right?"_

 _His gaze was somber as he looked at her, "If she even talks to me after Atlanta."_

That event had affected him deeply and seeing her again no doubt brought everything rushing to the surface, including those lingering doubts. She knew how devastated he'd been when he'd found out HQ was gone, after Lorna tore apart the plane, after people he considered family turned away from him…he saw himself as unworthy of the position he'd been chosen for. Unworthy to lead. "What happened, Marcos? What did Evangeline say to him?"

His jaw clenched.

Clarice stared at him, "Marcos… _what did she say_?"

"She said there was a war coming and that with…Lorna and Andy gone, the Underground didn't have that power." He leaned back against the side of the building, letting out a long breath before he continued, "She didn't want a repeat of his last failure… didn't want him destroying the rest of what had been built."

She flinched at the words, "What else?"

"I don't know. He told Caitlyn and me to go back to the car while he went back to talk to her." His face softened, eyes dropping the cracked sidewalk beneath them, "He didn't say anything on the way back and I wasn't too keen on pushing him."

Clarice nodded, "Do you have any idea where he might be at?"

"Maybe back at the shop? It deserted at night."

Looking both ways, she ducked into an alley and pulled open a portal.

Zingo jumped through it immediately, barked, and came back.

She looked at Marcos, who only shook his head.

"Just bring him back alright?"

She nodded, waiting until Marcos held onto Zingo before closing the portal behind her. She didn't need to worry about both of them… Clarice looked around the dark lot full of empty metal for cars and trucks and various other vehicles alike.

She ignored the ever-worsening rain as she walked through walls of off crushed metal, listening for anything that could give her a better location. The sounds of rain pattering on glass and metal were constant, the moisture softening the ground under her feet.

Lightning illuminated her way in flashes and she paused when she heard a bang.

She cocked her head to the side. _Thunder?_

 _Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

Clarice bent down, picking up an old tire jack before walking slowly in the direction of the sound. The noise was too rhythmic to be thunder, too loud to be anything other than something solid striking something hollow…

It was the choked off scream that froze her. _John?_

Dropping the tire jack, she ran in the direction of the sound.

She skidded to a stop when she finally saw him, eyes wide.

The noise she'd heard was his fists striking the side of an old school bus, the depth of the dents in the metal telling her that he'd been at it for a while. He didn't look her direction at all…hadn't acknowledged her presence in any way and her heart broke in her chest.

She'd seen this anger in small instants: the cracked plastic on the steering wheels, the shattered glasses, the broken edges of the counter… Clarice knew that those were only small pieces off the wall he put up between it and everything else…but this? This anger, this _rage_ …it was like a dam had broken loose, unleashing wave after wave of fists and screaming.

She wanted nothing more to run up to him, wrap her arms around him and pull him back, but with how little he seemed to register his surroundings, that had the definite possibility of going real bad real quick. Instead, she approached him slowly like a wounded animal and spoke to him at a normal volume, "John?"

A crash of thunder muffled her voice, his fists striking the metal again and again…

She swallowed, wiping the water from her face as she took another step closer. "John?"

No reaction.

Clarice cleared her throat, ready to just yell at him, when she saw his hands.

What she thought was mud at a distance was actually _blood_ , dripping from his hands and smeared across the dented metal with every hit. Her stomach dropped to the ground at the realization that he was _hurting_ himself and whether or not it was intentional, she had to stop him now. "John!"

His head snapped up and a chill when through her as lightning illuminated eyes wild with pain… with _panic_ , sucking in a sharp breath as she very nearly took a step back. She hated how afraid she was of him in that split second, "It's me, John. It's Clarice."

He blinked, staggering back into the bus as he immediately turned away.

"John-"

"You…" he rested his head back against the grimy windows, "you shouldn't be here."

"John, look at me."

"No," he closed his eyes, "you need to go."

Clarice shook her head, "I'm not _leaving_ you, John."

He flinched away from her as fingers grazed his knuckles, his expression pained. "You should."

She frowned, recognizing the defeat in his voice. Between that and the blood, Clarice didn't like the picture her mind was painting. The pain that he'd described earlier that day had never been elaborated on and at first she thought it was from all the fighting, but looking at him now…that wasn't all of it.

John caused himself physical pain because it was easier to process than the anger and the grief…

"But I'm not going to because you're hurting." She came to stand in front of him, grabbing gently onto his wrists. Clarice could feel the rapid pulse underneath the rain-slicked skin and the constant heat that radiated off him even in a torrential downpour. "I'm never going to leave you. I'm never going to doubt you." She tightened her grip, trying to catch his gaze for even a second, "I'm never going to stop loving you, John Proudstar. Nothing in your past, present, or future is going to change that."

He dropped his head onto shoulders, arms pulling her hard against him.

She said nothing more when he fell to his knees or when he clung to her so tightly there would no doubt be bruises come morning. She held him until his shoulders stopped shaking and his hold loosened, pulling away just enough, "Let's go back to bed, change into something warm and get those hands cleaned up?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her neck, "I didn't mean to-"

"I know." She managed a smile, "Now come on you big lug, I can't carry you and make a portal all by myself."

His lips twitched as he stood and while it may have been such a small thing, Clarice could see some of that light return to his eyes. She knew that they would have to talk about everything that had just transpired, about his demons coming to the surface and her impromptu confession in the pouring rain, but for now, she was just happy to have him with her.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

She _had_ to believe that.


	4. perManence

Takes place after 2x04

* * *

Clarice watched from the doorway of one of the medical examination rooms as John gently laid down the still unconscious Lauren on the bed, stepping back with a forlorn expression as Caitlyn set about checking her vitals.

She reached out as he walked past, fingers catching at his sleeve, "John…"

He shrugged her off, shouldering past Marcos as he rounded the corner.

Clarice couldn't help the pain the slashed at her chest as she dropped her hand. She wanted to follow him, to check on him before he lashed out at the nearest surface with his fists, but a small part of her held her back. A part that told her this was her fault…

"Hey," Marcos put a warm hand on her shoulder, "You doing okay?"

"I'm not the one you should be asking."

He looked in the direction John had gone, eyes somber, "Clarice…"

"I stopped him from going after Lorna." She remembered pleading with him, when everything erupted into total bloodshed and chaos, remembered his anguished scream and the _alright_ said through gritted teeth. "She was right there and…"

"You did the right thing, Clarice. Those mutants were killing each other and…" he squeezed her shoulder, looking over at Lauren with such a guilty expression. "After seeing Andy hurt Lauren so badly, I wouldn't have wanted to see John forced to go up against Lorna."

Clarice shuddered at the thought, recalling the shotgun buckshot embedded in his skin and both the _metal_ weapons he'd had in his hands. _Would Lorna have used those against him? Thrown them hard enough to pierce his skin?_ She shook her head, not liking that train of thought either, "Do you think she would've actually…?"

He ran a hand down his face, "I thought I knew, but…I don't recognize her anymore."

Her heart clenched, wondering if John and the Struckers had come to the same realization today. She'd been frustrated with the whole lot since they'd charged into Graph's place and John had gotten shot. She'd seen the desperation drive everyone into a plan that was no doubt doomed from the start and could only watch in horror as everything fell apart.

She wrapped him in a tight hug, "I'm sorry, Marcos."

He returned the embrace, pulling back after a long moment, "Go find John."

She nodded, "Update me on Lauren?"

Marcos nodded, "I will."

She searched the entire clinic, asking anyone if they'd seen him. She tried to ignore the worry gnawing at her the longer she looked without success and the feeling that he was intentionally avoiding her as her search extended past the clinic and into surrounding alleyways.

Clarice paused as something hit a nearby dumpster.

On any other day, she might've ignored it but Clarice examined the small pieces of rock and brick on the lid anyways, a chill going through her when her fingers came back red. She whipped her head back to look at where they'd fallen from. _John…_

Sparing only a moment to glance for passersby, she opened a portal to the roof of the building and jumped through. She immediately spotted John, his back against the ledge he'd just been striking, head bowed and forearms resting on drawn up knees. "John?"

He didn't look up. "How's Lauren?"

She glanced at his bloody knuckles, "Caitlyn was looking at her last I saw…and you?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

She snorted, "Because punching things until you bleed is _totally_ normal behavior."

Narrowed eyes looked up through a curtain of hair.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. This is the _second_ time you've decided hitting things was better than talking to someone… _anyone_ about what's going on." She tore a hand through her hair as she turned away from him, tears burning her eyes. "I can't just stand by and watch you hurt yourself. It _scares_ me to see you in pain, John. Can you _see_ that?"

She nearly jumped when his fingers encircled her wrist.

"Look at me, please."

Clarice looked down at their hands first: his split knuckles and her chipped nails, sliding her fingers through his and squeezing. She lifted her face up to meet his, leaning into his touch as a thumb brushed away her tears. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, I…"

John sighed, resting his forehead against hers. "No. I…I should be the one apologizing."

She looked up into those fathomless brown eyes, so full of guilt and pain.

"I do see it, Clarice…every time." His hand slid down her neck, palm resting on her chest as his eyes slipped closed. "I can still hear your heart racing when those shots sounded, your shaking hands when the doctor pulled the buckshot out of me, the tremor in your voice when you spoke to me the basement…"

She wet her lips, "Then _why_? Why do you do this to yourself?"

"Because my anger is destructive, Clarice, and I don't want you getting caught in the crosshairs." He stepped away from her, expression pained as he flexed his battered hands, "If I ever hurt you when I got like that…I would never forgive myself."

"You could never hurt me like that, John. _Never._ You know why? _"_ She strode up to him, taking his face in her hands and frowning when he stared at the ground. Clarice tightened her grip, knowing the pressure would ground him, "Look at me, John. _Really_ look at me. Do you know why?"

His lifted his gaze.

"Because you're not capable of it."

Shadows darkened his eyes, "You don't know what I'm capable of."

"I do actually. I know you're a fighter. A soldier. I know that you've probably had to do… _things_ because of it and it killed a part of you to do them." She didn't flinch at the warning in that stare and her fingers dug deeper when his jaw clenched, "Your mutation gave you the ability to meet almost anything or anyone head-on, to hunt them down so they couldn't get away…"

He looked moments from stepping back.

"But you don't because if given the opportunity, you've always tried to talk to others, to understand their motivations before throwing a punch because despite what you think, hurting those without cause has never been in your nature."

"How can you still see the best of me?" He murmured, his expression one of tenderness and love and disbelief as fingers gently traced the lines of her face like he was afraid she'd shatter. "Even after all that's happened?"

She grinned, "I guess I'm just stubborn."

A small smile curled his lips, "That you are."

Her hands wound around his neck as she returned the gesture, "I learned from the best."

He drew her into a long kiss, hands falling to her waist as hers tangled in his hair.

In that moment, Clarice could almost forget that everything was going wrong, her world fading until there was only John and his warm embrace. Even as he pulled away, she held onto him and she noticed him doing the same when she rested her head against his chest and his cheek pressed into her temple.

They were each other's touchstones, a grounding point when everything else was spinning out of control and she wanted to hold onto him with everything she was because if they started putting distance between each other now, she wasn't sure she'd recover from that.

Neither of them would.


	5. adMission

Spoilers for 2x05

* * *

Clarice's stomach dropped when she and Marcos returned to the clinic, Marcos immediately asking the clearly rattled woman at the front desk what happened. Her stomach dropped when she heard the words _Purifiers_ and _break-in_ and _guns,_ running to find Caitlyn or John and ask what the hell happened.

She stopped when she found Caitlyn sitting with Reed and Lauren, her head in her hands while her husband ran a hand up and down her back. Clarice knocked hesitantly on the doorframe, forcing her voice to be as calm as possible, "Caitlyn?"

The woman looked up, eyes glistening with tears.

She sucked in a breath, "What happened? Where's John?"

"The man that he brought in, Michael, gave us some information on the mutant that the Inner Circle took but he was in bad shape when they…when the Purifiers came," She swallowed, "Michael needed surgery and John, he…" Caitlyn shook her head, "I told him he couldn't go out there, but he was so…so desperate. I've never seen him like that."

 _I have_. Clarice took a deep breath, "Where is Michael? John?"

The first question seemed to physically strike her, "He wasn't going to make it. Michael knew it. I knew it, but I…I didn't tell John. Michael served too, kept telling John that the mission comes first, but he wouldn't…" tears streamed from her eyes, "He died and John was so angry…"

"Where did John go?"

"He went back to the apartment for only a couple minutes, then came and took Michael's body." She didn't look at Reed when he squeezed her shoulder, keeping her focus on Clarice, "He said he deserved a proper burial."

Clarice ran a hand through her hair. She tried to remember how long they'd been underground, but time felt different down there…like the whole world could pass them by, "How long ago was that?"

"A little over three hours."

She tried to do the math in her head, to figure how it took to dig…Clarice shuddered. That thought wasn't one to linger on. However long it took, John should've been back by now. "Did you see him come back?"

Caitlyn shrugged, "If he did, he's probably back at the apartment."

"Thank you Caitlyn and I'm sorry we weren't…"

She shook her head, "Don't. You and Marcos saved those patients, Clarice."

Clarice tried not to frown, remembering the circle of burning candles, the glow of heated metal, the _M_ burned into their cheeks and still hearing the hiss and the gasps of pain of the mutants who'd chosen to stay with Erg. _Did we?_

She left them, walking down the hall to the front desk, when she noticed the wall to the secret room was open. She looked both way, sighed, and went to close it when she saw the state of the room.

Clarice was drawn the old water heater, fingers tracing the dented metal.

 _Oh, John…_

She closed the panel behind her and portaled to their apartment, immediately making her way to their bedroom, pausing when she finally registered the sound of the shower running coming through the slight ajar bathroom door.

It killed her to keep walking, but she told herself that he needed this time to himself.

She sat on their bed, back against the headboard and her chin resting on her knees.

Clarice to keep herself calm but with everything had happened within the last day it felt as though flash images were tearing through her mind with abandon: a folded list of names, a circle of candles, the hiss of red-hot metal on flesh, Marcos' torn expression, Caitlyn's teary eyes, her words, the dented metal…

The list of names she'd scribbled down for Erg kept coming back, guilt churning her stomach at the realization that she had to talk to him about what she'd done. She had to tell him, she knew she did. She remembered the last time she'd kept something from him and the anger that had flared in those dark eyes…the betrayal…

" _You know when you ran off and I went to look for you I did that…because I thought you were one of us." He looked at her with hard eyes and a clenched jaw, "I don't know…maybe I was wrong."_

Would what he look at her with now? After everything they'd been through?

He'd opened to her so much over these last few weeks, bared the damaged soul that lay underneath all that nearly impenetrable skin and yet all she'd done in return was lie and keep secrets…

Clarice looked up when he entered and on any other day, the sight of him shirtless and still dripping from the shower would've derailed conscious thought completely but the horrible burns covering his hands and his arms and his chest threw them in another direction entirely… "Oh my God, John what…what happened?"

"Michael's skin was acidic…no one else could touch him."

She swallowed. "John, I'm so-…"

" _Don't_ Clarice…" He clenched his jaw, "Not right now."

She winced at his barbed tone.

He sighed, running a hand down his face, "Sorry, I…it's been a long day."

"Tell me about it." She muttered, frowning at his hands as he walked over. Those burns looked worse to nearer he got, all blistered, peeling skin. "Do you have anything for your hands? They look like they hurt…"

He shook his head, "I heal quickly…"

"So I've heard…" she crawled off the bed and lightly shoved him back, "Now sit."

He almost smiled as he sat down.

She kept her teasing expression until her back was to him, everything crumbling into a mess of nerves as she dug the first aid kit that Caitlyn insisted everyone have in their apartments if the clinic was ever compromised out from under the sink and set it next to him.

Pulling out the burn ointment and gauze, she dragged the desk chair in front of him.

He held out his left hand with no argument.

His eyes burned into the side of her head as she uncapped the ointment, trying to focus on the warmth of his skin or the coolness of the medicine instead of how much effort it was taking to keep her hands from shaking.

They sat in silence as she finished wrapping the hand before moving onto the next.

She wetted her lips, not looking up at him as she took his hand in hers once more. Upon closer inspection, she saw that his knuckles were bruised and split as well, her frayed control finally snapping as she stiffened…

" _He wasn't going to make it. Michael knew it. I knew it, but I…I didn't tell John…"_

The image of the caved in metal flashed across her mind and she swallowed thickly.

" _He died and John was so angry…"_

"Clarice?"

"I uh…I need to tell you something." She dropped his hand, "And you're not going to like it."

"Clarice." The frown was audible in his voice, as was the concern, "What is it?"

 _She wondered how quickly that would change…_

She finally looked up, "It's about Erg."

A myriad of emotions flashed through his eyes, too fast for her to get a handle on, and he slid off the bed. He crouched in front of her, one hand resting on her knee, the other curling around her elbow. "What happened, Clarice? Did he…?"

She shook her head, "No, John. It's about…how I got that info on the Inner Circle."

He frowned, but didn't interrupt as she forced out the words.

"He…wanted a trade. Information for information."

His gaze sharpened, "Information about what?"

She swallowed again, his stare pinning her place. "Us…and the mutants we helped."

It was like watching a wall come down over his expression, his warmth and concern now a mask of stone as he stood and took one step back, and then another before turning and striding from the room. In that instant, he sucked all the heat from the room, fueling his anger and leaving her hollow.

Clarice flinched as the sound of breaking glass coming from the kitchen and against her better judgement, she followed him. She wasn't going to leave him alone this time, not when she was the cause of it.

He was bent over the sink, every line of his body as taut as a bow string being drawn back.

She hesitated in the doorway, "John?"

The tension bled out of him with a sigh as he looked up. "Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

She blinked, sucking in a sharp breath. The mask had fallen apart as quickly as he'd constructed it, revealing the mess of pain and guilt that was becoming all too familiar to her. She almost would've preferred the anger. "After your talk with Evangeline, you were so desperate for answers and I…I hated seeing you like that. You were trying to take on everything at once and I just…I wanted to help…"

He held out a bandaged hand, "Come here."

She slid her fingers through his.

He tugged her closer, wrapping her in his arms as he pressed a kiss to her hair.

Clarice closed her eyes, sinking into his embrace.

"I'm sorry that you felt you had to hide this from me." His voice wavered, "I've been so focused on trying to redeem myself after Atlanta that everything else just…" he stepped back so he could look at her, "I'm just tired of losing people."

"You won't lose me but…" Her fingers traced the constellation of bruises left by the shotgun and the burns left by Michael's acidic skin, matching the ones on his hands. The marks told her of his desperation and continued lack of disregard for his own safety. Her eyes burned with tears, "…if you keep this up, I'm afraid I'll lose you and I _can't_ -"

He held her face in his hands, his tone full of so much _conviction_ , "That's not going to happen."

She wanted to argue, the words _you don't know that_ on the tip of her tongue but she held them back. The anger and the sadness and the guilt had disappeared, something warmer and softer and brighter in his gaze…She smiled up at him, trying to keep her voice light, "If you say so…"

He pursed his lips, probably trying to figure why she wasn't arguing with him.

Clarice took his wrist and tugged, "Now come on. Let me look at that hand."

"Clarice…"

She kept the smile on her face, " _John_ …"

He sighed, letting her pull him along and sit him back down on the bed.

They both sat in relative silence until she'd finished, Clarice setting aside the used supplies and pressing her lips to his bandaged knuckles. She smiled as she set his hand down, "There you go, soldier. Good as new."

His fingers caught her wrist as she stood.

She laughed as he spun her around, drawing her in between his legs.

His expression was one he hadn't worn the night after the Liberty Park raid, John looking up at her through dark lashes and a soft smile as his thumbs teased the strip of skin between her jeans and t-shirt with slow, circular patterns.

She hesitated for only a split second before seizing his lips, smiling against his mouth as her shirt and bra was discarded behind her seconds later. Clarice melted into his touch as he lifted her into his lap, but as her hands ran over the welts and bruises on his chest and stomach she realized that this was as much a distraction for him as it was an assurance for her.

As to whether or not it would actually work…

She guessed they would figure that out in the morning.


	6. calaMity

Takes place after 2x06.

* * *

 _Ta-thump, ta-thump, ta-thump_

John watched as Clarice slept off the effects of the gas, fingers digging into his temples. His senses made note of every breath, every flutter of her eyelashes, every brush of fabric against her skin, every heartbeat…

His jaw tightened and John wanted nothing than to reach out and take her hand, to _feel_ that steady pulse against his fingertips, to feel the warmth and the solidness and the softness of her skin. But he couldn't…

" _Shatter!"_

John squeezed his eyes shut against the memory and the sound of a bullet tearing through him, pieces of Shatter's crystalline body crumbling to the ground before the unmistakable thud followed. Another life taken, another friend gone…

So many mutants _gone…_

" _Do you think I'm going to let you destroy the rest of what we've built?"_

The armrest of the chair splintered as he clenched his fist just a little too tightly.

His eyes snapped open and he uncurled his fingers, slivers of wood falling to the carpet.

He couldn't touch her right now…not when he was like this. Not when he was teetering on the edge of his self-control, his _restraint_ , so close to spiraling down into that abyss again, into a darkness that wanted nothing more than to rip and break and tear apart _everything_ in frustration, in grief, in _rage_ …

God, he wanted to _scream_.

" _It's gas! Everybody get out! Run!"_

 _Clarice crumpled almost instantly, coughing once before passing out…_

He tore a hand through his hair, the dull pain just barely pulling him back from the edge. John growled under his breath, hands curling into fists against his pounding skull, itching to punch something… _anything_ until his knuckles bruised and his skin split...

 _It had taken everything in him to lift her into his arms, spots encroaching on his vision as he stumbled through the haze behind Marcos and the others. He coughed, his throat on fire as he choked on the gas…_

He ground his teeth when he lifted his eyes from his lap, the darkness and anger retreating just enough for him to _breathe_ as his eyes traced the sleep-softened lines of her face: from the curve of her cheekbones to the slope of her jaw…

" _God, you are so beautiful."_

John pinched the bridge of his nose as his eyes began to sting, but the tears broke free anyway. An invisible hand reached inside his chest, prying apart his ribcage to take another swipe at his mangled heart.

There had been a moment back in Baltimore, as Naya and Skylar had hefted him to his feet, where his mind had short-circuited…when he'd looked back at her crumpled form and hadn't seen Clarice lying lifelessly on the ground…

He'd seen Gus, covered in ash and blood…

" _I'll make them pay for what they did to you."_

He'd seen Sonya, vacant blue-green eyes staring at _him_ …

" _I promise you, we'll find justice for her."_

"John?"

His head snapped up, meeting her eyes with a small smile, "Hey."

She frowned, pushing herself up, "John…what happened?"

"Shatter's dead…and the others…"

She sucked in a sharp breath, reaching out, "John…"

"We couldn't…" He shook his head, that dark anger writhing under his skin as he pulled away from her. He couldn't hurt her now, not after the images his mind conjured up spinning him in circles…he would tip over the edge then. He shot to his feet, " _I_ couldn't…"

"John…"

He paced the length of their bedroom, "All those people…"

Clarice stepped into his path, hands held up pleadingly, "John _please_ …please just _look at me_ …"

His entire body went rigid, "Stay back."

Her heartbeat increased and she stopped. "Okay…alright."

 _She's scared._ He winced at the thought, lifting his gaze.

Her own face was streaked with tears, but her voice was steady, "Just talk to me."

"What's there to talk about, Clarice? I screwed up… _again_."

She didn't jump when his fist went through the drywall like paper and she didn't move closer when his shoulders began to shake, at least not at first. Her pulse steadied and she let out a shaky breath when he pulled his hand out and slid to the floor.

"People keep dying and I…I don't know how many more friends I can lose."

Clarice said nothing, taking the hand still coated in plaster. "Come on."

He shook his head, "Clarice…"

"Nope, no more arguing. Get up." She tugged on his hand, "Come on."

John looked at the woman in front of him, the strong beautiful soul that didn't shy away from him in his anger or his grief. She wasn't afraid of him…had never been afraid of him. She hadn't judged for even a second as he'd bared his soul to her.

 _What had he done in this life to deserve her?_

A small smile, "Are you just going to keep staring at me or are you actually going to stand up?"

Her expression chased away the lingering darkness…for now.

He returned the small smile, hand still in hers as he stood.

She brushed the dust off his hand before pressing a kiss to his knuckles like they hadn't just been put through a wall, looking up through her lashes with those electric eyes. "Go get a shower, alright? Then come to bed."

He nodded once before parting.

The shower was quick, methodical, John stepping out not five minutes later in a fresh pair of sweats and a tank top to find Clarice wearing only one of his shirts. _Gods…_ The sight left him breathless. "So beautiful."

She just smiled at him and reached out. "Come on."

He observed the light as it played over the skin and muscle and bone of her hand, reflecting off the chipped nail polish and fine hairs. He could see the pulse thrumming in her wrist, could almost feel the warmth of her blood…

"I'm not going to break, John…I'm not made of glass."

His eyes flicked to the remains of the chair, then the hole in the wall, both joining the long list of things he'd broken in their apartment. He'd rather plan a trip to the hardware store than the infirmary. _If he hurt her_ …he shook his head. "Right now…you might as well be."

"I trust you, John." She kept her hand outstretched, "I always have."

 _You shouldn't_. He swallowed, "Clarice, I'm sorry, I can't…"

She lowered her hand, her smile tinged with sadness, "It's alright. Just come to bed?"

He watched as she slid under the sheets and rolled onto her side, purple hair spilling over the pillows as she looked at him with those vibrant eyes and like a moth to a flame, he joined her. Keeping space between them, he did the same.

She combed the damp strands from his face, knuckles brushing along his temple.

He closed his eyes at the touch.

 _How was she so gentle with him?_ He didn't deserve it…

She closed the distance, drawing him closer.

He stiffened, "Clarice…"

"Do you trust me, John?"

 _With my life…_ he opened his eyes. "Yes."

"Then come here."

Like before, he let her guide him, not applying even the barest of pressures to her as she pushed herself up and his brought his arm around his waist and rested his head against her chest. While he was nearly as stiff as a board the entire time, she was so at ease with him.

" _Breathe_ John." She murmured into his hair, "Take a breath and relax."

 _Ta-thump, ta-thump, ta-thump_

A shudder went through him as her heart beat against his ear, steady and calm despite all she'd learned and seen from him tonight, the realization melting the tension. Tears burned his eyes as he squeezed them shut, shoulders shaking as his hand fisted the fabric of the shirt she wore and a choked sound was torn from him.

She pressed herself even closer, tightening her own hold on him. "I'm here, John. I'm right here." Her own voice wobbled with tears as she dropped a kiss to the crown of his head, "I'm right here."

 _I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I love you. I love you and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._ He murmured the confession in his native tongue into her chest, a language he hadn't spoken aloud since he'd left the reservation and hoped that one day he'd have the courage…the strength to tell how he truly felt before this war reached its climax.

Or maybe she already knew.

After all, Clarice never failed to surprise him.


	7. unMarked

Takes place after 2x07

* * *

For a split second, Clarice wanted to turn around…to see whatever expression was playing across his face, but the urge was gone as quickly as it'd come. She knew what she would see, what she'd _already_ seen.

Anger.

Betrayal.

 _Disappointment._

With each step she took, the lump in her throat grew and grew, Clarice choking back the tears as she turned another corner. She ripped out the contacts, the desire to _run_ thrumming through her so intensely…but she hesitated when she went to open a portal.

The apartment wasn't an option nor the clinic…

She had no one to talk to, nowhere to go, except…

Clarice looked over her shoulder, where she'd left John.

She didn't want to leave him standing there, stewing in his anger, but she couldn't deal with the fighting right now…especially with him. He'd been her stability, her safe place, her eye of the storm since the Atlanta station had fallen but now she was watching him crumble…watching _them_ crumble and Clarice hated that _she'd_ become one of the reasons why.

Mind made up, she tore open a portal and jumped through.

The temperature drop had her pulling her jacket tight around her as she approached the entrance, not the least bit surprised to find Erg among the mutants standing at the mouth of the sewage tunnel. Her heart clenched and she shouldered past him, glad that no one stopped her when she did.

She found her spot from before, shoving her hands into her pockets.

"I didn't think I'd see you back so soon, Blink."

She tried to clear her throat, but her voice was still hoarse, "I'm not really in the mood for a chat."

He hummed, "The _Underground_ not to your liking?"

Clarice worked her jaw, blinking back the tears, "Can we not do this now?"

He didn't respond to her waspish tone, just inclining his head and walking away.

She leaned back against the wall, watching everyone mill about without a care in the world. _What would it feel like not to worry? Not to hide?_ Clarice shook her head at the last thought. While the old her might've come here without a second thought, being with the Underground, being with _John_ , had changed that. But the thought of being in a place where she didn't have to hide who she was…

"Are you alright?"

She hurriedly wiped away the tears, turning to the voice. "Yeah, I'm…I'm fine."

Glow looked at her with sad knowing gaze, "No…you're not."

Clarice's eyes were drawn to the bandages covering the healing brand for just a split second before she dropped them to her lap. She didn't know how she was supposed to respond to the woman's words, but she found herself smiling when the small glowing orbs began to float around her. "It's a mess up there right now and…I just needed to get away for a little bit."

Glow nodded, "If I may ask…what happened?"

If Clarice had the energy she might've snapped back with a _mind your own business_ or _why do you care_ but she was just tired and she knew the woman didn't have ill intentions. She'd seen the interactions between her and Marcos… "Erg had me get information for him when we first met, a trade and then when I brought you all in, I helped steal some food. John, my…boyfriend, didn't take too kindly to finding that out."

"He was the one who tried to help Micheal, right?"

Clarice nodded.

"Why didn't he like that?"

She ran a hand through her hair, "He has so much hope for what the Underground stands for, what it holds for the future but by me working with Erg and not telling him…" Clarice looked down at her hands, "He thinks that I've lost faith in that…in him."

"Have you…lost faith?"

She sighed, "In him? Never. But the Underground…" Clarice watched the orbs float through the air and wondered why humans ever thought they were dangerous. "It's hard to believe in the goodness of humanity when I haven't…"

"Been treated as human?"

"Something like that." Clarice ran a hand through her hair, "I just…I don't know what we're doing anymore or who we're even fighting. Between the Inner Circle and the Purifiers, I feel like we're surrounded on all sides. We keep losing people and everyone's so desperate _not_ to that they'll run in without a plan just to save _anyone_ that they can and…"

Glow hummed, "You're angry?"

Clarice worked her jaw, " _Everyone's_ angry."

The woman shook her head, "I didn't ask about them, I asked about you. Why are _you_ angry?"

She bit back another sigh, "Honestly…it's so tangled I couldn't even _begin_ to pull it apart."

Glow gave her a small smile, hand resting on her knee, "What brought you down here?"

" _You needed help and it was the only way to get it. I'm sorry if you don't see it that way."_

"John. I made the deal with Erg because of John." She swallowed back the lump once again forming in her throat, eyes burning. "We've lost so many people… _he's_ lost so many people. He feels responsible and he so desperate to prove himself that these last few months, hell these last few _weeks,_ I've just been watching him unravel more and more. Erg had information about the Inner Circle and about our friends that were with them and he…he _needed_ it…"

"You wanted to help."

She cleared her throat, "Yeah, well when I said that…he was _not_ happy."

"He's scared, Clarice."

She looked over at the woman, "No, I'm _pretty_ sure he was angry."

Glow moved the orbs around absently, casting her thoughtful expression in a soft blue light, "There is more than one way to express fear, Clarice. Some people hide. Some people run…" she met Clarice's eyes directly, "and some people lash out."

She let out a ragged breath.

"Now I don't know him like you do, but from what I've heard...John is a man who has lost a lot in so little time…whether it be because of death or ideological differences." She sat down next to Clarice and drew up a leg, resting her chin on her knee. She looked over at Clarice, "When you told him about Erg, he was scared that he was losing you like he lost his friend."

Clarice wrung her hands, "Okay, I get what you're saying, but there's still…"

"Still what?"

Her eyes drifted to her branded cheek, hesitating when she finally spoke, "He's never had to hide who he was. No matter how many times he _says_ his understands or calls me beautiful…" her voice cracked as she remembered how gently his thumb had brushed over her markings, how warm and soft and so full of _love_ his eyes had been... "He'll _never_ understand."

"That doesn't make his words any less true."

Clarice just sighed.

She'd never doubted John's words. He was always honest with her, regardless if it pissed her off or not and despite his soldier façade, he didn't want to fight because he had so much _hope_ ….so much _faith_ for a better future despite everything and everyone telling him to just give up, to let it go... "You didn't see his face, he was so… _disappointed_ in me."

"Sorry to interrupt." Erg did _not_ sound apologetic in the slightest, "May I talk to you, Blink?"

The orbs faded and Glow nodded, squeezing her knee once before standing.

"What do you want, Erg?" she cocked her head to the side, "More corn flakes?"

The man just shook his head, "One would think you're upset with me."

"If makes you feel any better, I'm upset with a lot of people right now." She shoved her hands back into her pockets as she leaned back against the wall, fingernails digging into her palms. "So you can either spit it out or leave me alone."

He narrowed his eye, the glass and metal eyepatch gleaming in the low light.

She clenched her jaw, "Erg…"

"Well," he came to stand next to her, looking out at the community, "I just thought I'd let you know that your boyfriend is currently stalking the tunnels as we speak. He's doing a number on the walls and the pipes and his hands…"

A coldness squeezed her heart and she cut him off, "Why are you telling me this?"

He watched her carefully, "You care for him, don't you?"

"Why would you ask me that?"

"Go talk to him…he's near the entrance."

She pushed off the wall.

"I'll see you around, Blink."

She nodded as she turned to pull open a portal, shutting it behind her just as quickly. Clarice took a second to steady her shaking hands, to calm her racing heart, before opening another double portal to a hundred feet in front of her.

John sat with his back against the brick wall he'd just been striking, head bowed and forearms resting on drawn up knees. He didn't move when she stepped out of the portal, only flexing his bruised and bloodied hands in response to her arrival.

She swallowed, "John…"

He looked at her through a curtain of dark hair.

Clarice stayed just out of arm's reach, "Why are you here?"

"I tracked you."

She nearly snorted, "You know that's not what I meant."

His jaw flexed.

Clarice pursed her lips…she did _not_ have the patience to pull teeth right now, "John…"

He sighed, "What do you want me to say, Clarice?"

" _What we're doing here doesn't work if we're not honest with each other."_

She took another step forward, "Just be _honest_ with me."

"Like you were honest with me?"

Clarice nearly winced at the hollow, weary tone. There was no fire in the barb, but it hurt nonetheless. Although, she probably deserved that one… "John, I don't want to fight anymore just…please answer the question. Why are you here?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Clarice blinked, " _Really?_ Because last I checked, you were still pissed at me."

John got to his feet, "That doesn't mean I don't care for your safety."

"My…" she paused, deciphering the _fear_ and the _worry_ and the _guilt_ swirling behind his eyes.

He'd always been difficult to read, but it was like what she'd said earlier. He was coming apart at the seams, all his stoicism crumbling under the strain of every loss. There was hollow disbelief there as well that reminded her of the drive from the mental hospital. Her stomach dropped as she took another step closer, "John, what happened?"

"The Inner Circle hit a bank, Creed Financial, a little over thirty minutes ago."

"And…?"

"Thirty-three people are dead. All human."

She shivered at the news, wrapping her arms around herself as the cool, damp air seemed to seep into her very bones. There was a heaviness in the air, a sudden stillness that had nothing to do with the fact that they were underground…a monumental shift.

It was like watching Lorna pull the plane from the air.

Nothing for mutants would be the same now.

She was surprised to find John's arms around her moments later, but she didn't push him away, didn't say anything. Instead, she held onto him and closed her eyes, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tank top as she drew on his ever-present warmth to chase away the coldness sitting in her chest.

Clarice knew better than to think this meant forgiveness, but for the moment, it was a reminder that they were still here…still _alive_ despite everything that this pointless, endless war had taken from them…was _still_ taking from them.

John pulled away first and she saw flicker of pain before he closed himself off again.

She wiped her hands on her jeans, palms still tingling like they always did when she touched him. Her stomach clenched as the tension between them returned, but she took a deep breath and pushed the resulting nausea aside. "John…"

"When you're done here, we'll need help moving people from the station in Richmond…"

"I can leave now."

He tied back his hair, "Nothing pressing?"

"I think we both know why I came here."

John looked over at her, "Then let's get back to the apartment. Marcos is waiting for us."

She opened the portal without preamble, watching Marcos' dark eyes flit between the two of them with a furrowed brow. Clarice almost had half a mind to snap at him, knowing it was him who brought the whole Erg situation up to John, but she held back.

He knew, better than most, the damage secrets could do.

She shook her head when Marcos looked at her again.

They would talk through it like the adults they were and Clarice wanted, more than anything, to know that they would come out on the other side after that conversation unscathed. Whole. Together…but she didn't miss the distance John was putting between them now.

Maybe there was only so much strain they could take before they collapsed.

Maybe she hoped for too much.

Only time would tell.


	8. reMinder

I apologize for how long this part took, but it's extra long so I hope that makes up for it!

Takes place after 2x08

* * *

Considering she'd spent so much of her life alone, the silence of their shared apartment was stifling…suffocating even. A part of Clarice wanted to retreat, to put distance between her and John while another wanted to go back out and shake him, lash out at him but all she did was lay on her side and run a soothing hand through Zingo's fur, listening to the faint sound of clicking from the keyboard in the other room.

" _I'm sorry, but the last time I checked, you were freakishly strong, but you are not immortal."_

" _I never said I was."_

" _Then stop acting like it."_

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push back the tears but only seeing a body twisted beyond recognition. She held onto Zingo as her stomach rolled, her head pounding at the memory of the screwy shimmering, twisted mess that Rebecca's abilities left behind…

Clarice let out a shuddering breath.

" _You guys should just give up, you don't know what you're up against."_

The girl who could _turn a person inside out_ had told them to stop, to give up and it made Clarice wonder just who this Reeva Payge person was to inspire that fear. She'd wanted to ask Marcos after the woman had chewed him up and spit him out, but the burns up to his elbow told her enough at the time.

What could she do to them? _To John?_

Not that any answer would change John's decision to charge ahead. Reeva may very well be able to kill him by turning his own mutation against him like Marcos, overwhelming his senses and turning everything up to eleven until his body simply couldn't take it anymore… He wouldn't stop until he ended up six feet under.

It was that thought almost had her screaming.

Because of course, the first person she really connected with…really _loved_ in her life would end up leaving her behind in the most final of ways. She couldn't bear the thought of being alone again in a world on fire, in world of complete and utter chaos. If he died, there would be nothing keeping her grounded. She'd be untethered… _lost_.

She'd retreat underground…into the dark. And she wasn't sure she'd come back up.

Why couldn't he see that?

Why didn't he realize that as strong as he was, he couldn't carry the world on his shoulders?

No one could. It wasn't feasible. It wasn't sensible. It was suicidal.

Because eventually the weight would become too much and it would shatter him and she didn't want to be around to see it but here she was, watching the fissures spreading through him: the bruised knuckles, the bullets in his chest, the burns covering his hands…

The signs were there and she was helpless to stop it, to curb it even.

Clarice was no more than a shadow in his tunnel-vision and it killed her that for all his skills in focus and observation that he couldn't _see_ her…couldn't _hear_ her words at all. She felt like a ghost screaming at a brick wall she couldn't pass through and she couldn't help wonder what horrible thing would have to happen for him to actually listen.

How much longer could she keep him from stepping over that precipice before she finally let him go? She wasn't sure she had the strength to hang onto him much longer, to run right alongside him into one suicide mission after another as a reminder that he didn't have to do this along... Clarice felt as though she were running on reserves, her mind and body exhausted with the daily battle against a world that had abandoned her the day she was born.

Just the thought sent a wave of drowsiness washing over her, jaw cracking as she yawned.

The sound of typing hadn't ceased.

She looked down at Zingo, "You'll let me know if he leaves, won't you?"

The dog pressed her wet nose into Clarice's hand and whined.

"I know, girl." She closed her eyes and burrowed herself into the pillow. "I know."

She was surprised by how quickly she fell asleep.

…

 _She was in the alley again. Alone._

 _This wasn't right…where was he?_

 _Clarice stumbled forward, the air around filled with the tears and twists of energy that Rebecca's abilities left behind. Her head pounded and her stomach lurched as she braced herself against a wall, "John!"_

 _She blinked, trying to clear the haze._

" _I told you guys to let me go…you should've listened."_

" _Rebecca?" Clarice spun, regretting it almost immediately as the bile rose in her throat. She couldn't see even the blurred outlines of the girl…or John. God, she could use his steadying hand right now… "Where are you? Where's John?."_

 _She was spun around again, and this time Clarice fell to knees and retched._

 _Studded combat boots encroached upon her vision, Rebecca crouching when Clarice lifted her head. Dark eyes glittered with amusement as she cocked her head to the side, mouth slowly curling into a cold smile, "Oh, I think you know what happened."_

" _No…"_

 _Clarice had barely pushed herself up before she was whipped around again, stumbling forward into brick wall. Everything inside here went cold at the familiar pile of black trash bags, "No…it can't be…"_

" _He was a little more difficult to twist than most…"_

 _Her nails dug into her palms, "You're lying!"_

 _Rebecca motioned to the trash bags, "Why don't you see for yourself?"_

 _Her hand trembled as she reached out to pick up the bag, which was dropped almost instantly._

 _Even as twisted as the body was, she recognized it immediately by the tattoos on the brown skin of the contorted arms, the beaded bracelet on his wrist, those beautiful brown eyes... The hand nearest her twitched as she fell to the ground and she reached for it._

" _No…nononono…"_

" _Not so immortal now is he?"_

Her eyes snapped open, a scream tearing itself from her throat as she sat bolt upright. She yanked at the sheets tangled around her legs desperately, her breathing growing harsher with every failed attempt.

John was suddenly there, "Hey, Clarice it's me…it's just me."

She met his gaze, but all she saw was his mangled body laying discarded in the trash with eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky. Her stomach lurched violently and she pushed past him, very nearly crashing to floor as she ran across the hall in time to throw up in the toilet.

A gentle hand rested between her shoulder blades, "Clarice…"

She flinched back from his touch, trying to breathe, "Don't…don't touch me. I can't…"

"Hey. It's okay." He kept back, hands held up in a placating gesture. "It's okay."

Clarice shook her head, leaning back against the wall, "No…no it's not."

"Clarice…"

"No!" She snapped, "No, it's not…you don't get it!"

He looked somewhat surprised by the outburst, eyes widening just slightly.

"You don't get to tell me everything's fine…that's everything's okay!" Her eyes burned with tears, "Not when you continue to show so little regard for your life, charging into one suicidal situation after another and I…I can't watch you kill yourself, John. I just _can't_."

Something flashed through his eyes, but he remained silent.

Her voice cracked, the tears finally breaking free, "I couldn't bear it if I lost you too."

John pressed his lips into a thin line before grabbing a washcloth and running it under the water and he held it out, "May I?"

She nodded, taking it from him as he flushed the toilet and joined her on the floor. Clarice might've smiled at the fact that he was still keeping his distance, but she took the washcloth and wiped at her mouth before tossing it into the bath behind her.

She grimaced at the sound it made, running a hand through sweaty hair. If she wasn't still reeling, she would've definitely been more embarrassed by their current predicament. Instead she leaned her head back with a groan, "God, I must look like crap."

One side of his mouth lifted just barely, "You look beautiful."

Clarice snorted, "Flattery will get you nowhere, soldier."

He dropped his head, hair falling back in face.

She peered through the curtain and saw the guilt in his eyes as he stared at the tile.

Thirty seconds passed in silence.

Clarice pursed her lips before letting out a long sigh, "I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"No, you're not…" He looked up, holding her in his stare, "and that's fine. I deserve it."

"Doesn't mean it's warranted. I mean, we _are_ adults." She glanced around the bathroom, peeking out into the hallway of their shared apartment, before holding out a hand with a small smile, "Maybe we should start acting like it."

He took her hand, fingers sliding through hers.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Clarice." He squeezed her hand, "I never wanted to scare you."

"I know." She swallowed, vision blurring "I know you didn't but all this…this throwing yourself in the line of fire over and over and over again…that scares me. It scares me because you _know_ you're not invincible. You _know_ that you can get hurt and you do it anyways. It feels like you don't care what it will do to me if you…"

"Clarice…" his other hand turned her face up, "Hey, look at me."

She leaned into his touch, lifting her gaze.

"I know it may seem like that sometimes, but I _do_ care. I care more than you could _possibly_ imagine." His eyes burned with such intensity, thumb brushing over her markings. "You are so precious to me. I would do anything… _anything_ to ensure the lives of those I care for…those that I love."

Her heart skipped a beat, "At the cost of your own?"

He frowned.

 _God_ , she wanted to hit him sometimes, "You have the worst tunnel vision."

John almost smiled, "The irony isn't lost on me."

"You…" She shoved at his chest and turning her face away, voice cracking as the tears broke free, "No, you _don't_ get to do that. You don't get to joke and smile about-about running into situations blindly, alright? Not right now!"

"I didn't…" His eyes slipping closed as he rested his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry."

She wanted to lean forward, to close the distance between them but she was stopped by the arrival of Zingo. The dog slinked into the bathroom and pressed her head into her hip, Clarice smiling as she leaned back and stretched out her legs to scratch her ears. "We didn't forget you, Zing."

The dog laid her head on Clarice's thighs.

She felt his eyes on them and looked up.

John was watching the whole interaction with a strangely calm expression. The hardness that had constantly been present the last few weeks had softened. There was no furrowed brows or clenched jaw, no blind desperation or anger in his eyes.

He seemed…at peace.

She smiled and went to push herself up, Zingo and John following. "Both of you, out."

"Clarice…"

"Out."

She very nearly laughed at the _two_ sets of puppy dog eyes, not surprised when the _actual_ dog left without pause. "That means you too. I need to brush my teeth and take a shower. I don't need an audience for either of those."

John cocked his head as he walked forward, hands resting on her waist and pulling her closer.

Clarice laughed as she flattened her hands on his chest, his lips brushing her cheek, "John…"

His lips curled against her skin, moving along her jaw, "Hmm?"

She swallowed, breathless as she pushed back, "You. Leave. Now."

He groaned mournfully before pressed a long, lingering kiss to her racing pulse and stepping away with a mischievous light in his eyes and a boyish, shit-eating grin, "Yes, Ma'am."

Clarice rolled her eyes with a smile, "Alright soldier, shoo."

Her expression fell once the door shut behind him, hands shaking as she quickly rinsed her mouth, stripped, and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. She closed her eyes as the water ran down her body, trying to get her breathing back under control.

" _He was a little more difficult to twist than most…"_

She braced herself against the tile, a hand over her mouth.

" _Not so immortal now is he?"_

No, she was _not_ going to throw up again. The last thing she needed was John barging into the bathroom at the first sign of trouble and Clarice knew he would ask what the nightmare was about then and she didn't think she could actually verbalize it…

Tears mingled with the water running down her face and she shook her head.

She needed to breathe.

The nightmare was just that. A nightmare.

John was right down the hall. He was whole. He was _alive_.

 _Unless the idiot tried running off half-cocked again…_

God, she needed a drink.

Maybe they had a beer left in the fridge…

"Clarice, you good?"

She ran a hand down her face, "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

Clarice finished the shower as quickly as she could, squeezing that water from her hair and wrapping a towel around herself before going to stand in front of the mirror. She frowned at the clear redness of her eyes, but she didn't bother hiding it.

She walked to their bedroom, pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and one John's shirts before walking down the hallway to find John standing in the middle of the kitchen with that familiar distant focus in his eyes.

Clarice came to stand at his side, "John?"

He blinked, his eyes slipping closed with a pained sigh.

"John, what is it?"

"Open a portal to Marcos' apartment?"

She frowned, but did just that and sucked in a sharp breath at the mess she saw.

"Watch out for glass." He said absently as he walked toward the front door.

Clarice nodded as she followed him through the portal, the mask she'd been trying to construct for John crumbled almost instantly at the destroyed apartment. She didn't need John's tracking to know what had happened…

He slammed his palm in the door, " _Damnit_."

She jumped, spinning around, "John…"

He ran a hand down his face, grinding his teeth, "She was here. She was here and I…" he slammed the door again, "I _missed_ her…"

"Who?"

"Lorna…and the baby."

She looked around the apartment again, the damage showing itself in a new horrible light. Clarice tiptoed around the broken shards on the floor, seating herself on the armrest of the couch and watching as John walked around the entire apartment in a haze, running his hands along the walls and the furniture and the floor…

She didn't know what to do or what to say, if there was anything to say.

What she did know was that she was angry at Lorna for doing this to Marcos… _again_.

For handing him his daughter and taking her away… _again._

For giving John hope before smashing it… _again._

 _How could she not see the damage she was doing to them?_

She looked up from her lap when John passed by the couch and Clarice could almost see the pain the internal conflict was causing him as paced back and forth. He wanted to find Marcos, but he also wanted to track down Lorna and their daughter. But he couldn't do both.

"He's drunk and angry and with the rioting…"

"John…"

"But Lorna…the trail only a few hours old…"

"John!"

He turned to her, stopping in his tracks.

"You can't do both."

"You think I don't know that!"

Clarice was only slightly startled by the outburst, "You need to _think_ , John, instead of yelling at me." She stood, reaching out to grab his wrists. "Think of them, alright. Of the two, who is in more danger?"

"I _can't_ let her go again, Clarice. She's so close…"

"I know you love her, but you need to face the fact that she left, John. Lorna _left_." She softened her voice, dropping his wrists to turn his face towards her, "You need to let her go…she made her choice the second she decided to tear apart that plane. I don't think there's anything you can do at this point that going to change her mind."

His eyes were bright with tears.

"But Marcos…he's in pain. He's…"

"He'll never forgive me for letting her go."

She swallowed, the pain in his voice and the tears nearly undoing her. God. She hated seeing him like this…"If Marco had wanted you to track her, don't you think he would've actually told you she was here…or called you?"

"Clarice…"

"John, we need to find Marcos alright?" She tightened her hold when his tears dripped onto her hands. "We can't let anyone else get hurt, John …"

He clenched his jaw and nodded, pulling away from her. "Yeah, alright."

She frowned, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No…I…" He ran a hand down his face, "I can't be worrying about you with the riots…"

"No, it's alright. I get it, John." She reached out to squeeze his hand, "Just find him, okay?"

He looked down at their hands, "You'll be back in the apartment?"

"Yeah. You don't need to worry about me…I won't be going anywhere."

John nodded, not saying anything more before walking out, the glass crunching under his boots.

Clarice portaled back to the apartment, going straight to fridge and grabbing a beer. She sank down into the couch with her legs curled underneath her. She cracked open the bottle, draining half of it before she took a breath.

Zingo came in not soon after, jumping up into the couch and resting her head on her knee.

Clarice finished off the beer, pausing as she reached for another.

 _No..._ The last thing John needed was for her to be drunk when he came back with Marcos. No, what he needed was for her to be calm and collected and ready for whatever came through the door.

She walked back to the bathroom, running a comb through her hair before tying it back in a messy bun at the base of her neck and tidying up the apartment the best she could: doing the few dishes still in the sink, wiping down the counters, refolding the blanket on the back of the couch…

It couldn't have been more than half an hour later before the front door opened, Marcos leaning heavily on John and slurring in an indecipherable mess of English and Spanish as he was lowered onto the couch.

That's when she saw the blood caked on one side of his face, "Jesus, what the hell…?"

Clarice to look at John, frowning when she saw the burns on his skin, "John…"

"I'll be fine, Clarice. Just go get the first aid kit. _Now_."

She pursed her lips, but did just that and watched John clean away the luminescent blood as it trickled down Marcos' face with only small winces as it dripped onto his skin. "What the hell happened, John? Where did you find him?"

"He picked a fight with a group of damn Purifiers."

Clarice looked at Marcos incredulously, "Seriously?"

"It's fine. I handled it."

She blinked at the cold edge to his voice, but said nothing. "What do you need me to do?"

"Grab a clean change of clothes from his apartment and a pillow."

Normally, being ordered around might've irritated her on any other occasion, but Clarice figured John would appreciate someone listening to him right now. So she nodded and grabbed what he asked for (with an extra shirt for John), waiting outside the bathroom while John helped Marcos into the shower.

She winced at the sound of splashing and struggling, holding the clothes through the cracked door. She stepped back as the two stumbled back through not ten minutes later, not commenting on John's drenched state as they walked back to the couch.

She helped Marcos lay down on the couch, draping the blanket over him.

" _Mi amor, mi hija_." He murmured into the blanket, "She's gone. _Mi Aurora_ …she's gone."

Clarice blinked back tears, not really needing a translation, looking over as movement caught her eye. She grimaced at the red, peeling burns covering one side of John's neck and shoulder and chest when he finally pulled off his ruined shirt. "How are you feeling?"

He threw the shirt in the trash before pulling on another. "Not the first time he's bled on me."

She huffed out a breath, "So you're fine is what you're telling me?"

"I'll heal."

Clarice frowned, looking over at Marcos, "And him?"

"He'll have a hangover in the morning and some bruised ribs…"

She sighed, "John, you know that's not what I meant."

He pinched the bridge of nose, "Well then, _I don't know_ , Clarice."

"Okay." She backed off on the questions, sensing his patience was at its end "Okay, then we'll get some rest and we'll figure it out in the morning alright? Come to bed."

"I don't think I could sleep with all the…" he motioned to the window.

"Just lay with me then." Clarice held out a hand, "You don't have to sleep."

He looked back at Marcos, expression shifting. "I don't want to…"

"He's not going anywhere, alright? And besides, you'll be able to hear him if he does."

John turned to her, staring at her for a long moment before sighing. "Okay…okay."

She waited until he slowly lowered himself into the bed, curling onto his side and Clarice was hit with horrible déjà vu as she remembered that day he spoke of his past with Evangeline: the wetness in his eyes and his trembling hands…

She lay facing him, brushing back the damp strand of hair.

He closed his eyes at her touch.

Neither of them slept the rest of the night.


	9. iMpact

Takes place after 2x09

* * *

Clarice was almost surprised when the hours passed and John didn't come after her, but another part of her bitterly reminded her that he would too focused on his damn mission with Regimen to track her down. Too focused on a war. Pushing everyone away. Pushing _her_ away…

 _"_ _Oh, is this about the Morlocks…and Erg?"_

 _"_ _Well, you admitted you went behind my back. You gave him information and whatever else happened down there…"_

 _"_ _Oh, come on, you really think I'm cheating on you?"_

 _"_ _I don't know what to think anymore."_

She'd been more shocked than hurt at the accusation, surprised that that had even been a thought on his mind. Clarice would begrudgingly admit that they was losing ground in this fight, what with the Inner Circle stirring the pot and the Purifier's volatile response, but not once would she ever say she'd lost faith in _him_.

"There she is!"

She spun as she heard the unmistakable sound of multiple guns cocking, already pulling open a portal and jumping through it before bullets sprayed the brick wall where her head had been and Clarice immediately ducked behind a dumpster in the next alley over.

She tried to take a second to breathe when she heard a high-pitched scream.

"Mommy! Mommy wake up!"

 _A child._

"Come here you little mutie brat!"

Clarice peeked around the dumpster, zeroing in on the two gun-toting men cornering a girl no more than eight years old with lavender skin and solid magenta eyes. Her vision went red when she saw a woman crumpled on the ground in front the girl, blood pooling under her body.

The girl's hands began to glow as she looked up in time for one of the men to raise his rifle…

Clarice jumped from behind the dumpster, "Hey, assholes!"

The two men spun around, the shorter one firing instinctively.

She was already prepared, opening a portal that redirected the bullet into his own leg. Clarice watched with almost grim satisfaction as he cried out and clutched at his bleeding leg, but as she turned make a move on the other, the girl finally lashed out.

Pink fire exploded from her hands, consuming him completely in seconds and the little girl was sobbing at the charred remains crumbled to the asphalt, face wet with tears as she turned and collapsed on her knees next to her mother.

Clarice stepped around the blackened body, bile rising at the smell of burnt flesh. She kicked away the gun from the man still whimpering on the ground, keeping a watchful eye on him as she crouched next to the girl, "Hey…"

The girl lifted a glowing hand as she stumbled back.

She held up her own, "I want to help you alright? Look at me, I'm like you."

The child blinked before lowering her hand, "My mom, can you help my mom?"

Clarice reaches, more for show than anything, as she checked for a pulse she knew wouldn't be there. Her chest ached at the knowledge that this girl had no one. "I'm sorry, but she's gone. There's nothing I can do."

She shook her head, "No! You're wrong! There has to be something…"

"We need to go now. I can take you somewhere safe-"

"I'm not leaving her!"

Clarice bit back a sigh, watching the girl's fingers tighten on her mother's shirt and was distantly award of the injured man frantically calling for backup. She reached to brush the woman's hair out of her face, stomach rolling at the multiple bullets to the chest. Her eyes caught on the necklace, a silver ring interlaid with pink and purple gemstones hanging from a silver chain.

Unclasping it, she slipped into her pocket and stood, "Come on. We need to go…"

"But…"

"It's them! Those two killed Ryan!"

Clarice grabbed the girl moments before the shooting started, shielding her the best she could as they dove behind a dumpster. She cried out a bullet struck her arm, her hand immediately putting pressure on the wound. _Shit._ She wouldn't be able to portal with a hole in her arm.

They were trapped.

Bullets continued to _ping_ off metal.

Clarice turned to the girl, "Hey, look at me. Just look at me, alright?"

She turned those brilliant eyes on her.

"What's your name? Mine's Clarice."

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second as shots hit the brick above them, her hands glowing faintly as they curled into her fists. Her lips quivered as they opened again and she swallowed, "Hailey. My name is Hailey."

"Okay Hailey, here's what we're going to do…"

They both stiffened as the screaming started, followed by a familiar bright flare of light but Clarice didn't dare move out into the open. She instead shielded Hailey, the girl trembling behind her.

Marcos' face went awash with relief as he lowered his hands, "Oh, thank God it's you." He frowned when he saw her arm, "You alright?"

"I've been better." She looked past him, "Where's John?"

He winced at the question, but quickly saw the little girl huddled behind her, "Who's that?"

"This is Hailey." She motioned in the direction they'd come. "Purifiers got her mom."

His expression shadowed, but he managed a small smile, "Come on let's get out of here."

Hailey slowly eased out from behind Clarice and took the offered hand, surprising the latter in how quickly she trusted the man. She looked down at her mother's body with teary eyes, pulling away from Marcos as her hands began to glow. "I'm sorry, I-"

Marcos heated his own hand in response, his smile a little softer, "I'm a hard one to burn."

She looked at their hands with wide eyes.

Clarice could sympathize. This was probably the first time she'd ever met someone with similar abilities to hers, the first time she realized she wasn't alone in her mutation… She looked away, glancing at the men on the ground and the SUV parked at the end of the alley with a frown. _What? Was John avoiding her now or something?_ "Is John with you?"

Marcos cleared his throat, "We need to leave now."

Her stomach clenched, "You're not answering the question, Marcos."

"I'll answer the question when we're somewhere safe."

She bit back a remark, wincing as the standing sent a stab of pain up her arm and following Marcos and Hailey back to the vehicle. Clarice paused when she saw Fade sitting in the passenger seat, grabbing Hailey's other arm, "What the hell is he doing here?"

Marcos sighed, "Clarice, just get in the car."

"No, not until you tell me why he's here."

Fade met her eyes, his own glassy with pain, "Clarice…"

" _You_ shut up!" She spun on Marcos, "Why is he here? Where's John?"

"Clarice!" Marcos snapped, hand flaring gold for only a second, "Please, just…get in the car."

Something in his voice stopped her from responding, a weariness…a grief that she didn't like the sound of. Something bad had happened. Something to do with John… Clarice shook her head, forcing herself not to jump to conclusions just yet before she actually got answers. Plus, this was _John_ they were talking about… "Okay, okay. Sorry."

She slid into the car first, sitting behind Fade as they drove back to the apartments.

…

Clarice clenched her jaw as Marcos removed the bullet and disinfected the wound. " _Jesus_ -"

"Looks like a through-and-through." His discarded it in the trash, "I'll need to stitch it up."

She was barely listening to him, watching from the rickety dining room table as Hailey sat on the couch, giggling while Zingo licked her face. For a moment, she almost smiled… _almost_ before remembering the man currently handcuffed at the other hand of the table. She turned to Marcos, "So are you going to answer my question now?"

"Which one? You asked quite a few."

She glared at Fade.

Marcos cleared his throat. "That systems analyst said he'd found something when John…" his eyes flicked to Fade, "heard someone coming moments before Fade shot him. Killed him. John was not exactly…thrilled by that revelation."

She very nearly snorted. "Cause he was so calm before that."

" _Anyways_." Marcos sprayed her arm with a numbing spray, ignoring the glare she shot at him, "we'd just taken down Fade when we heard sirens." He hurriedly began to stitch her up, as if sensing whatever he was going to say next was going to upset her, "We were going to go back to the scrapyard when…"

"Marcos, what happened?"

He pursed his lips, the silence stretching too far for her liking.

Clarice ground her teeth, "Stop stalling, Marcos. Tell me what the hell happened. Where's John?"

He finished wrapping up her arm, glancing at Fade before stepping back.

She jumped off the counter, "Marcos…"

"It was Purifiers."

Ice flooded her, "No…tell me he didn't-"

"He told us to go ahead…that he would hold them off."

She put up a hand, trying to swallow the lump growing in her throat as the world suddenly tilted. Clarice couldn't help but imagine what would've had to be done by the Purifiers to subdue John, her stomach rolling as she braced herself against the sink.

 _"_ _I'm sorry, but the last time I checked, you were freakishly strong, but you are not immortal."_

Her vision blurred with tears, "No…"

 _"_ _I never said I was."_

"Clarice…"

And invisible hand reached inside her chest and squeezed, tearing a choke sob from her. Her fingers tightened on the counter, the pain of the fresh stitches barely registering as she tried to breathe. "No, he isn't…"

Marcos placed a hand gently on her back, "Clarice…"

She spun, shoving at his chest hard enough for him to stumble back. "You were supposed to have his back, Marcos! You were supposed to-"

"Supposed to _what_ , Clarice? _Stop him!_ You've met the man, right? I couldn't have stopped him even if I tried!" Marcos' dark eyes were full of anger and grief, "What was I _supposed_ to do, Clarice? You tell me!"

She opened her mouth and closed it, "I don't…I…"

Marcos softened his expression, shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry, Clarice."

She swallowed, "So…so what do we do now?"

He ran a hand down his face, looking from Fade to Hailey. "I don't know."

He looked so _tired_ in that moment…so helpless and she couldn't help but pull him into a tight hug. They hadn't heard from the Struckers since they'd left and with John missing (she refused to use the word gone), they were the only ones left.

"What do you think they're doing to him?"

Marcos pulled back, squeezing her shoulders, "Clarice, you can't go down that path…"

"I can't help it, Marcos. He's…I…"

He smiled sadly, "I know. We'll find him."

"How? We don't have another tracker just lying around."

"No, but maybe we know a group of mutants with considerable resources…"

Fade finally spoke up, "Reeva won't help you."

"I'm not talking about Reeva." He snapped.

Clarice looked over at Marcos, seeing the poorly disguised anguish in his eyes and noticed that Fade seemed to come to same conclusion as well. _Lorna._ "Marcos, do you really think she'll help…?"

Marcos ran a hand down his face, "They were friends long before I met her."

"And that's supposed to make a difference how?"

"There's no love lost between mutants and Purifiers, Clarice, you know that." Marcos pursed his lips, glancing at Fade, "She won't leave him at the mercy of Purifiers simply because he didn't agree with her on how to handle them."

"And we're supposed to get a hold of her how?"

Marcos folded his arms across his chest, turning to the handcuffed man with a calm, resolute tone of voice as he walked over to the table, "Fade here, is going to go back to the Inner Circle and tell her exactly what I told you."

Fade frowned, "I don't think…"

He raised a glowing palm, "I think you will, it's the least you can do after slowing us down."

"Slowing you down? I got shot!"

"You're lucky we didn't leave your traitorous ass behind." Marcos growled.

"Guys!" She snapped, pulling Marcos back and turning to Fade and this close, she could see the telltale bruising of someone who got the crap beat out of him. _John._ Clarice had no sympathy for the man, but right now, they had few options…

The man's expression was wary, probably expecting her to take a swing at him.

As much as she wanted to, it wouldn't change anything, "I know this is asking a lot…"

Marcos muttered something in Spanish that was no doubt antagonistic.

She sighed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the necklace, "Give that to Hailey."

"Clarice-"

"It was her mother's."

He clenched his jaw, but nodded and walked over to the girl.

She turned back to Fade, not wanting to see any more of that girl's grief when she was trying to shove down her own. Clarice sat down in the chair perpendicular to him, "I'm not trying to start anything with the Inner Circle, Reeva least of all, but…"

"Then what are you trying to do?"

"I just want John back. That's it." She knew she failed to keep the tremor out of her voice and could see that the man had picked up on it as well. Clarice cleared her throat, "You know how bad the Purifiers have gotten. What do you think they'll do to a leader of a mutant "terrorist organization"?"

Fade looked uncomfortable at the thought.

"Just talk to Lorna, alright? Let her know what's going on."

"And if she says no?"

"Then that's her decision." Clarice swallowed the bitterness of the words and tried not to think about what the repercussion would be if Lorna said no. How would it change her relationship with Marcos and John if she refused to help? _Would John even survive?_ She shoved that particular thought far, _far_ away… "You know as well as I do no one can _make_ Lorna do anything she doesn't want to do."

He sighed.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"I'll talk to her…but I can't promise anything."

She nodded, before standing and walking over to where Marcos held the teary-eyed Hailey. She sat on his other side, "Fade said he'll do it."

"You think he's telling the truth?"

"Do we really have another choice?" Clarice didn't want to point out that this whole plan was Marcos' in the first place. "And besides, it's like you said…Purifiers are friends to no mutants, whether they're from the Mutant Underground or Inner Circle."

Hailey sniffled, clinging to Zingo like a lifeline.

"What about her?" Marcos whispered.

"I'll take her to Erg."

"Clarice…"

"She killed someone Marcos and it doesn't matter if it was done in self-defense. You know no one will see it that way and with her mom gone…" her heart ached in remembrance of a similar pain, "She'll be safer down there than she'll ever be up here."

He looked over at her, "Fine, but I'm coming with you."

"No argument there. And after that?"

"After that…we wait."

She just hoped John could hold on until then.


	10. phantoMs (part one)

_Isn't it lovely? All alone,_  
 _Heart made of glass, my mind of stone_  
 _Tear me to pieces, skin to bone_  
 _Hello, welcome home_

-"Lovely" by Billie Eilish & Khalid

* * *

Clarice watched as Lorna and Marcos spoke, her stomach twisting violently as she sat curled up on the couch. She absently ran her fingers through Zingo's fur as the dog whined and burrowed her head in her stomach to keep her shaking hands busy.

She wanted to be doing something: move, run, portal until her shoulders ached but it wouldn't do any of them any good. It wouldn't do _John_ any good. She couldn't portal without an actual clear destination and it _killed_ her that she couldn't help him.

If she'd just _been_ there, he wouldn't have played the damn hero…

Now he was gone, taken, being _tortured_ …

" _This isn't your fault, Clarice."_

Her head snapped up as John's voice echoed in her mind and she caught sight of him leaning back against the kitchen counter behind Marcos, wearing the same clothing she'd last seen him in and looking at her with such an infinite sadness in his expression, polar opposite of the anger he'd last directed at her…

" _There's nothing you could've done."_

"Clarice, you alright?"

She blinked, realizing just how long she'd been staring at nothing.

 _Could they not hear him? See him?_

Or had she finally lost her mind?

No, she just hadn't slept a wink since she found out John had been taken. Her brain was playing a cruel trick on her is all, reminding her that he wasn't here. He wasn't there because the Purifiers had taken him. They'd taken him and were _torturing_ him as they all sat here trying to make up a plan…

She turned to find that Lorna was the one who'd spoken and Clarice held the woman's gaze, trying to decipher the emotions in those dark eyes and small part of her hoped she could feel every bit of what Clarice felt. The pain, the fear, the panic, the guilt, the anger, the _helplessness_ … "I'm fine."

She pursed her lips at the sharpness of the words, but stepped back.

Marcos frowned, "Clarice…"

"Can you two just _leave me alone_?" The edge in her tone was brittle, her voice cracking on the last word. She turned away from them before anything more could be said, walking down the hall and into the bathroom and slamming the door.

" _Go easy on them…"_

"Just…stop talking." She stumbled to the sink as her vision blurred and she tried to breathe. Yet it seemed no matter what she did, her lungs still burned and her throat tightened and she splashed cold water on her face, trying to pull herself out of this spiral.

" _You aren't the only one who's in pain."_

Her head snapped up and she spun around, "You're not here!"

And he wasn't. No one was.

She was alone. Again.

She ran a hand through her hair with a hollow laugh, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "God, now I'm arguing with a ghost." Clarice shook her head. _Maybe a shower would help…_

She locked the door before stripping and stepping into the shower. The water was scalding as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back into the spray, breathing in the steam and trying to just clear her mind of the nightmarish images her sleep-deprived brain seemed fit to conjure up but she couldn't because with the mutant inhibitor collars out of the picture…

 _What did it take to hold John? To prevent him from escaping?_

"Stop it, you…you can't think like that. We'll get him back…"

 _How? It's not like have a tracker. By the time you find him, you'll be too late._ That small cynical part of her mind pulled down her hurriedly constructed walls like they were Jenga, breaking free of the box she'd shoved it in. She hadn't let it have this much free reign since she'd run from Mama D and Carl…

 _You left him, just like you left them. This outcome will be no different…_

"No…no it won't." She swallowed thickly, shutting off the water and tearing back the curtain as her vision blurred with tears. She blindly grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself before walking unsteadily to the sink and wiping off the condensation from the mirror. She froze at the image looking back at her.

John smiled from the doorway, all dimples and white teeth in the dim lighting.

Clarice spun around to find him gone.

She turned back to the mirror, seeing only the shadows under bloodshot green eyes…

" _God, you are so beautiful."_

With a choked scream, she lashed out, breaking the mirror.

Clarice didn't register the pain or the blood as she stumbled back, collapsing hard onto her knees as she continued to sob. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked forward, trying to hold back the scream once again bubbling in her throat.

There was suddenly someone else there, cool hands squeezing her shoulders.

Emerald green hair flashed in her peripheral and Clarice lifted her gaze to Lorna's, seeing that bone-deep grief in the woman's eyes that no doubt mirrored her own. "All I can think about is what they're doing to him. They're torturing him and I can't…I can't help but think if I hadn't left him then wouldn't have…"

"You can't think like that, Clarice. John made his own choice, like he always does." There was a hard set to her jaw, a sharpness to her eyes reminiscent of the metal she wielded. "We'll get him back. The Purifiers made their last mistake by taking him."

She made no comment at the dark, threatening edge Lorna's voice had taken, the pain slowly seeping through the fog and pulling her thoughts in another direction entirely as she looked down at her bleeding hand and she couldn't help but be reminded of his self-inflicted bruises…

" _She's right you know. You shouldn't blame yourself…"_

Clarice couldn't stop the shocked sound that left her mouth, head snapping to see that the image of John had appeared once again, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a sad smile that didn't reach his eyes.

" _I'm sorry."_

"Clarice?"

" _The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you."_

She shook her head, "I keep seeing him, hearing his voice…God, I feel like I'm going crazy."

Lorna's smile was humorless, "Join the club."

"I didn't mean…" Clarice frowned, "You're not…"

"Sorry that was a…bad joke." She took the bleeding hand in hers, drawing the metal trashcan and tweezers over with a flick of her wrist. "Relax, Clarice…I didn't think you did."

She winced as the larger shards were pulled out, "I'm surprised Marcos didn't barge in here."

"Oh, he wanted to, but I figured the fact that you were just out of the shower…"

Clarice almost laughed, "Probably would've thrown something at him."

Lorna hummed, concentrating on the glass.

"So you aren't going to ask why I…?"

"No. Your reasons are your own."

"So if I said I saw John in the mirror and I punched it, what would you say then?"

She paused, "John loves you, Clarice and I know you love him. I also know that he isn't the easiest man to love and _before_ you rip my head off…" she held up a hand at the furious look Clarice leveled her with, "he's impulsive and stubborn and ironically blind and that was _after_ Evangelinefoundhim _."_

" _Lorna Dane, always straight to the point."_

Clarice tried to ignore that this hallucination of John bore bruised and bloodied fists, focusing instead on Lorna, "So, what are you saying?"

"You feel guilty for the decision he made to hold back the Purifiers so Marcos and Fade could get away but you have nothing to be guilty about. He would've made that choice regardless of if you were there or not…"

" _I get that you hate the Inner Circle right now-"_

" _No, this has nothing to do with my feelings or Marcos or you! This fight is bigger than us!"_

Clarice looked down at her lap, chuckling bitterly, "Oh, I uh…I figured that out…"

Lorna frowned, but didn't say any more she continued to work of the smaller glass shards.

She worried her lip, "Did he ever talk to you about before?"

"About as much as I did."

Clarice backed off at the clipped tone as the last of the mirror was removed, grinding her teeth as Lorna poured hydrogen peroxide onto her hand and wrapped it in fresh bandages from the first aid kit. She didn't argue with the women's recommendation to get some sleep.

Maybe then, she wouldn't be seeing John's ghost everywhere.

"You know, Clarice…we'll get John back."

He stood behind Lorna, expression unreadable.

"I hope so."

 _Because I don't know what I'll do if we don't._

* * *

The second part of this two-shot should be up tomorrow!


	11. phantoMs (part two)

_Isn't it lovely? All alone,_  
 _Heart made of glass, my mind of stone_  
 _Tear me to pieces, skin to bone_  
 _Hello, welcome home_

-"Lovely" by Billie Eilish & Khalid

WARNING: Description of torture/blood

Happy Holidays to all my readers! Here's the second part, hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Gotcha."

He groaned as his head was smashed down onto the hood.

The truck moved back moments later, John barely able to get his hands underneath him as his body collapsed onto the asphalt from the pain. Not even the months spent in the underground fights had felt like this, although that might've been because of the pills…

"How the hell is he still alive?"

"Does it really matter?"

John gritted his teeth a booted foot kicked out an arm, knocking him on his side.

"Stay down, mutie freak!"

Another boot, this one steel-toed, slammed into his ribs again and again and again…

"That's enough."

"But-"

Turner's voice cut through the others, "This is a prominent leader of the Mutant Underground. We are going to take him back to base and see what else we can get out of him. If not, then we'll get his associates: Marcos Diaz, Lorna Dane, and Clarice Fong. They'll no doubt come for their friend."

John chuckled, looking up at the man with a smile, "Good luck with that."

Turner pulled out his gun and shot.

 _BANG! BANG!_

He couldn't stop from crying out as the bullets hit the ground inches from his ears, his vision exploding in a myriad of colored shards of light and John clamped his hands over his ears, body curling inward as his senses were overwhelmed.

"Put a hood on him now. He's tracker, so this disorientation won't last for long."

The white was replaced with blackness, but the ringing remained as they lugged him into the bed of the truck. The clattering of metal and tires of gravel grated on his eardrums, the men's voice sounded like they were coming from underwater.

He didn't know how long or how far they drove until the truck stopped and the men pushed him out of the truck and onto the ground. His sight, while blocked, didn't prevent him taking in his surroundings as his fingers curled into the earth: an old house with an underground cellar with no one but the Purifiers coming and going in the last few weeks.

His ears still rung and with the darkness cloaking his vision, the sharp scent of gunpowder and blood clinging to the men became impossible for him to ignore, overwhelming him with images of people running. Screams. Safeties clicking off. Shots. Bodies dropping.

John's stomach lurched and he bit down his cheek to keep himself from making a noise, but that did nothing more than make the smell of iron more poignant and he was faintly aware of being dragged over the gravel and down into the cellar.

The chains they wrapped around his body were reminiscent of the ones Evangeline used all those years ago, heavy and thick and difficult to break. A dull throb of pain went through him as they applied pressure to his already battered ribcage, fingers yanking back his head to secure a collar around his throat.

The hood was pulled off and even the soft, dim lighting had his eyes squeezing shut.

He dropped his head as much as the collar allowed, not rising to any of the questions they asked him and John just barely bit back his cry of pain as the sledgehammer slammed into his stomach, his body straining against the thick chains. He'd barely sucked in a breath before another swung struck his side.

John closed his eyes, trying to draw himself inward away from pain, but then a gunshot sounded and he couldn't stop the groan that was torn from his throat as the bullet pierced his skin, ears once again ringing.

He felt their eyes watching as the blood slowly trickled from his shoulder.

"So you _can_ bleed."

John didn't even lift his head, "Same as you."

Jace fisted his hair and yanked it back, "We are not the same!"

There was so much pain in his eyes, so much _hate_.

"But we are. You're not the only who's lost someone Jace."

The barrel of his gun was suddenly shoved under his chin. "Don't you dare talk about Grace!"

John held his eyes unflinchingly. "You going to shoot me now?"

"No, you'd…" The man he tilted his head back as he chuckled, he slackened his grip and holstering the gun. He shook a finger at John, "You'd like that wouldn't you, Mister Proudstar? You _want_ me to kill you so you can be a martyr in the Mutant Uprising."

John leaned forward as much as he was able, sensing the men's unease as the chains and wood groaned at the movement and as he lifted his head, his lips curling of their own accord, "I don't know where you got your information, _Agent_ Turner, but you're wrong. I'm no martyr and you don't know a damn thing about me or what I want."

The barb did exactly as John intended, the conversation ending as the man pulled out his gun and put a bullet in his chest, just over his sternum. The air was forced from his lungs, his heart stuttering from the pain. He gritted his teeth as it was followed with a crowbar, the men getting braver as each of the repeated strikes began to bruise his skin and aggravate the bullet wounds.

He groaned as something _cracked_ , most likely a rib.

John tried to stay aware, stay focused on his surroundings but that became harder with every bullet that pierced his skin. The pain he could endure well enough, but it was the blood loss that was starting to get to him. Everything was foggy, his vision blurring along the edges as the pool of red beneath him grew.

" _John?"_

 _That voice…_ He tried to lift his head, but everything was so _heavy_. John peered through his lashes, looking in the direction it had come from to see a flash of those beautiful lavender locks and green eyes in startling clarity, "You shouldn't be here."

Clarice grinned.

" _Am I though?"_

"Who are you talking to?"

He glanced at Jace Turner, not surprised to find her gone when he looked again and for a moment, he wanted that delirium back if only so he could see her safe and whole and happy. To see her smile at him in way he wasn't sure he still deserved after their last poisonous exchange and the accusations he'd made…

"Mister Proudstar, answer the question."

Clarice appeared again, tilting her head to the side with a mischievous smile.

" _Go ahead, soldier. Tell the man what he wants to know."_

He chuckled despite the current situation. _Leave it to Clarice._ "The memory of a better time."

" _Now you're just asking to get punched."_

Jace frowned, "Who. Were. You. Talking. To?"

John didn't respond.

"Things will go a lot smoother if you answer my question."

He smiled, "I was never one for the easy way."

The punch finally sent him tipping over the edge and into unconsciousness.

" _You know, you didn't have to provoke him."_

 _They were back in the bedroom of their apartment and John looked down at the woman laying across his chest, smiling as his fingers lightly ran down the ridges of her spine. "You told me to tell him what I saw. So I did."_

 _She rested her chin on her folded up arm, "You just wanted to see me, didn't you?"_

 _He laughed, "You know me so well."_

 _Clarice's brows furrowed, "I love you, but you're an idiot."_

 _John frowned._

" _If you're doing this to serve penance or…redeem yourself then-"_

 _He pushed himself up, "That is not what this is and you know it."_

" _Do I?" Her voice cracked as she sat up, tucking the sheets under her arms. "You've been trying to prove to yourself…to everyone, that you're still a capable leader. You shoved your anger and your grief and your pain so far down, compartmentalized and pushed ahead-"_

" _Clarice…"_

" _You left all of us behind John. You left me behind."_

 _He reached out, cupping her jaw in his hand, "I never meant to."_

 _She leaned into his touch, kissing his palm, "Then come back to us, John…come back to me."_

The cold water snapped him out of the dream, John gasping at the shock. The two broken ribs on his right side sent sharp, stabbing reminders of their presence and he groaned as fingers tangled in his hair and yanked.

"Back with us, Mister Proudstar?"

"Unfortunately."

"So did your little nap bring you some clarity?"

"You could say that."

Jace seemed wary.

John leaned back against the chair, forcing himself not react as the movement shifted bullets and bone. He shoved the pain back like he'd been trained to, focusing instead on the sound of boots on the wooden floor above them, the dust particles catching the sunlight…

A faint whistle drew his attention

" _Hey there, soldier..."_

Clarice leaned back against the far wall, those brilliant eyes luminous and glittering with laughter and light and _love_. She smiled, pushing herself off the wall and walked towards the wooden stairs leading up, and looked over her shoulder with a knowing smile.

" _You come back to me, you hear?"_

He tested the chains, feeling some the links give a little under the strain and he heard some faint splintering coming from the right armrest. From the lack of change to Jace's expression, it was safe to assume he hadn't noticed anything amiss.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

 _Yes, Ma'am._

He smiled as Clarice walked up the stairs and faded like a mirage.

 _I'll see you soon._


	12. equilibriuM

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not entirely sure where this came from, but it ties into phantoMs as far as to how Jace subdued John. There is one vague mention of Lorna's Bipolar Disorder so if I got anything wrong I apologize! I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Lorna barely registered the knock on the door, the "Enter" coming out of her mouth almost automatically. She was expecting Andy or even Esme, but was surprised to find Fade limping into the room, pain twisting his features and she could sense the metal staples in his leg as well as note the myriad of bruises covering him.

Lorna frowned as she slowly got to her feet. There was only one person she knew who could actually see Fade when he went invisible… "What the hell are you doing here, Fade? You're going to lead them right to us!"

He just shook his head, "He won't be following me."

His tone brought her up short, Lorna not liking the chill it sent through her. She realized then that he'd only said he, not they. Something had happened…something bad, and opposing sides or not, Lorna didn't like the thought of John getting hurt because that had to be the only way he didn't immediately track Fade.

She knew John's stubbornness like she knew her own, knew the lengths he would go to accomplishing a task he'd set his mind on. He was near unstoppable, but with the right weapons and approach, it was a possibility. "What happened?"

"He and Marcos got me at the clinic and we ran when we heard sirens." Fade shifted his weight with a wince, "But then a truckload of Purifiers tore into the alley and began shooting. He told us he would hold them off while we got away."

Lorna clenched her jaw. "And what else?"

"Marcos and Clarice fixed me up. Told me to tell you what happened to John."

She glanced out the windows, seeing the pillars of smoke that had only seemed to multiply in last couple hours. Lorna forced the sounds of Marcos' grief from her mind, the anguish in John's voice as he pleaded with her to just _talk to him_ …

Another knock on the door, Sage barging in seconds later.

The woman looked between the two with wide eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've been listening to the scanners and I stumbled on the frequency used by the Purifiers." She pulled in a ragged breath, "There were reports of a mutant captured outside of the Community of Mercy Clinic. Jace Turner just confirmed that the mutant apprehended goes by the moniker of Thunderbird."

Lorna stiffened while all the metal rattled and she let out a long breath, everything calming seconds later. She felt Fade and Sage's eyes on her, waiting for a response…for her to tell them what she was going to do.

She knew what Reeva would say, what Phoebe and Sophie would say. Esme was a wild card, but she could unintentionally tip off her sisters…she shook her head. The telepath had stayed back during the Creed heist to be with Dawn, because she herself had trusted the woman. "Sage, could you keep monitoring the channel, find CCTV footage, _anything_ that could narrow down a location?"

"Yeah."

"Fade, go with her?"

He nodded, the two leaving the room moments later.

She turned to stare back out the window, gaze drifting in the direction of the apartment complex the Mutant Underground called home. Lorna wondered if they would return there with everything going on, but it wasn't like Marcos and Clarice had a lot of places left where they could lay low.

A singular set of heels stopped at the door, before a light knock sounded.

 _Esme._

She opened the door with a wave of her hand without even turning around.

"You seem…troubled."

Lorna snorted, "Did my thoughts tell you that?"

"No." Esme came to stand at her side, "I just know you."

She glanced at the telepath, who turned to look out the window with a sadness in her expression reminiscent of when she'd spoken of her other sisters, the ones that hadn't made it out…Lorna swallowed, pushing the images as far down as she could. No need to bring that reminder up so near the telepath.

"So what is it, Lorna? What's bothering you?"

"A lot of things. Want a list?"

She huffed, "Is something going on with Marcos?"

Lorna went rigid. "No."

"The Mutant Underground then?"

She slanted her eyes at the telepath, the metal in the room reacting to her change of mood once again before she tampered it down. Esme didn't seem particularly concerned or surprised, but that didn't mean much… "What's with the third-degree?"

"I'm not going to say anything Lorna. You can trust me."

Lorna turned to face her completely, trying to see behind those pale blue eyes. Trying to see if telling her now would help or hinder, if Esme would see that the possibility of getting rid of Jace Turner once and for all was enough to keep the Inner Circle from doubting her loyalties…

"Sage might have a location on Jace Turner."

Her expression soured in mutual upset. "You want to go after him."

"He's the de facto leader of the Purifiers."

Esme raised a single brow, "And?"

"Shouldn't that be a good enough reason?"

The telepath softened her expression like she already knew, "Yes, but why _now_?"

"Because…" the words were there on the tip of her tongue, but they still felt…trapped somehow. Lorna drew the green headpiece to her hands and ran her fingers along the edges, aware of Esme's gaze on her as she tried to assemble her thoughts. She closed her eyes and sighed, "He has John."

Esme hummed.

Lorna tightened her grip on the headpiece. "What? No questioning my loyalties?"

"He's important to you…yes?"

She let out a long breath, "I spent three years with him, building the Underground network. We always had each other's back, no matter what." Lorna didn't voice all the times he'd helped her through both mania and depression or the rare moments she'd catch that thousand yard stare in his gaze that was usually accompanied by bruised knuckles. He'd helped her find balance despite his own problems and she couldn't put those feelings into words. "He's the closest thing to a brother that I've had."

"How long have the Purifiers had him?"

Lorna looked over in surprise, "Couple of hours I think. Why…you gonna help?"

"I can keep the others off your back."

"Really? Even your sisters?"

"They'll see the benefits of having Jace Turner gone. If you happen to help a fellow mutant, well…" she shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips, "Reeva won't be back 'til later tonight anyways."

"Thank you, Esme."

She inclined her head before walking out of the room.

Headpiece in hand, she went and knocked on Andy's door, listening for the grumbled _come in_ before she cracked it open. Her heart ached at the sadness radiating off of him, knowing there wasn't anything more that could help that except (maybe) time… "I have a mission…if you're up for it."

He didn't glance up from his tablet, "What are we going after now?"

"Jace Turner."

He lifted his head slowly, "Really?"

"Really. He and the Purifiers took John."

Surprise flickered across his eyes, "…does Reeva know?"

"No. Sage is getting a location now so…you coming with?"

Andy shrugged, "Sure, why not?"

He stayed in step with Lorna as they made their way to Sage's room and her wall of monitors. She couldn't kept up with the rapidly changing images on the screen or the occasional line of coding, but quietly sat down at the end of the bed as the flurry of typing stopped.

"I found some spotty footage from a camera in the alley behind the clinic from the building right next to it." Her expression was slightly frazzled, her voice wavering as she continued, "There's no audio, but you need to see this."

Lorna stood, coming stand over Sage's shoulder, watching the grainy footage of John shield Marcos from shots being fired off screen, one bullet taking down Fade. She wasn't surprised when John shoved Marcos ahead of him before turning and going full speed toward the truck barreling down the alley…

The truck ran into him, almost like it had hit a wall, smoke coming from the rear tires as the driver pressed down on the gas. But even he couldn't hold them back forever and she winced as the truck finally struck John, pinning him between it and a dumpster, the latter bending around his body as they suddenly sped forward. Lorna could almost hear the impact and his cry of pain as he slumped forward onto the hood…

The driver side door opened, Jace Turner getting out and slowly approaching him.

Lorna clenched her jaw as he yanked John's head back and slammed it into the hood and it took a lot for her to keep her abilities from frying the computers as she watched the truck pull back far enough for John to fall onto his hands and knees, the men kicking him until he collapsed onto his side.

John looked up and spoke, his words clearly meant to be inflammatory as Turner pulled out his gun, aimed it at John's head and fired twice.

Her hands gripped the headpiece painfully as John clutched at his head, remembering the debilitating migraines that would grip him for days when he went into sensory overload from something as simple as a sunny day. And as they pulled a black hood over his head immediately, there was no doubt that Turner knew _exactly_ what he was doing…

The room was silent as they processed what they'd just seen.

A big part of John that had first drawn her to him was his unending faith in humanity, faith that one day all mutants would be loved instead of feared. That this endless cycle of war, too much like the ones he'd fought overseas, would eventually end but now…

Lorna knew that, like her, he had his own darkness, his own demons to fight and she didn't want to think of what would happen if he lost that hope…if that strength finally failed him…what it would turn him into…

Lorna's voice was flat with anger, "Where did they take him?"

Sage frowned, "That I don't know, but I'm working on it."

She glanced at Andy, the young man looking at the screen with an expression she was sure mirrored her own. This wasn't just about justice for all mutants targeted and killed by the Purifiers or even sending the world a message. This was revenge now, pure and simple.

In this she knew that Marcos and Clarice would feel the same.

She swiped a burner phone of the counter and slipped it into her pocket, "Andy, come with me. Sage, call me when you get a location."

He frowned, "Where are we going?"

"To talk to some old friends."

Fade snorted at the words.

She shot a halfhearted glare at the man, but left the room with Andy and took the elevator down to the garage. Lorna laid the headpiece down in the backseat while Andy slid into the passenger seat and started the ignition, tearing out of the building and towards the apartments.

Lorna was thankful for the young man's presence, knowing he was struggling with the thought of seeing his family again but coming anyways. Seeing the others, especially Marcos, so soon after taking Dawn away would no doubt be hard and confrontational in the least, but she owed John that much.

He'd pulled her out her own hell so many time before she'd met Marcos.

It was time she returned the favor...


	13. hoMe

This is officially my longest chapter of this series because wow...that episode was intense. It was good to see them all working together even if it took something horrible happening. Hope you all enjoy and until next time!

* * *

Clarice brushed a strand of hair off his face, his normally warm skin flushed and burning to the touch. Her vision blurred with tears as he turned away from her, the mattress tearing under his hands as they curled into fists. She tried to keep her hand pressed to his cheek, to let him know that he was safe…that he was home, "I'm right here, John. I'm right here."

His response was a broken whimper in a language not remotely English.

She pulled back as he started to thrash, the bedside table breaking as his arm swung out.

Zingo jumped off the bed, whining as she pushed her nose into Clarice's hand.

Clarice pressed her other hand to her mouth as a sob slipped out, the tears spilling over as she stayed out of arm's reach. God, she wanted nothing more than to hold him, the comb her fingers through his hair, to soothe him through his feverish nightmare, but she couldn't do a damn thing now but watch him suffer.

He'd refused the painkillers so vehemently it'd surprised Caitlyn, but then he'd looked her with eyes glazed over in pain and the beginnings of a fever… _pleading_ with her to do the same regardless of how bad it got or how much it would hurt him...and her.

John calmed after a couple seconds, falling back onto the bed.

She eyed the spots of red spreading through the bandages, lifting the edge to peer under it when she saw the blood coating her fingers. Clarice pulled her hand away, head snapping up to look at John's face to find the source of the bleeding and frowning when she saw that the cuts on his face were already scabbed over…

Then he turned his head and she saw his ear.

Her hand trembled as she reached out, fingers smearing the half-dried blood…

"Oh, John…" She choked out as she took one unsteady step back, then another, shaking her head. Her lungs burned as she sobbed, the lump in her throat making the very act of pulling in air a chore, "God, what did they do to you?"

He groaned, one hand reaching out, grasping at nothing…

Clarice stumbled forward, broken from her panic when she saw his features twist in pain and fear and the tears trickling the sides of his face. He was gasping, struggling to breath, crying out in that unfamiliar language and without thinking, she reached out to take his hand…

His fingers closed around her wrist before she realized her mistake, a choked scream slipping out as he started to squeeze. John was deaf to the pain he was inflicting, still pleading and begging incoherently even as her skin bruised.

"John, it's me!" She forced out, trying to ignore the feeling of bones grinding as she tried and failed to pull away, "It's me, it's Clarice!" The agony brought her to her knees, but she continued to speak, to try to get through to him, "John!"

"Clarice!" Caitlyn's surprised voice came from behind her, "Lauren! Marcos, get in here now!"

The pain was excruciating and Clarice was faintly aware of the flurry of activity as Lauren held John down or the heat of Marcos' glowing hand as he grabbed John's wrist in turn, slumping back into Caitlyn when he finally let go.

"Clarice, look at me. Clarice!" Caitlyn hands cupped her face, "Just look at me."

"I'm sorry." She cried, body shaking, "I'm sorry…"

"Oh, don't be sorry. Don't be…" She helped Clarice stand as she turned to her daughter and Marcos, "Keep an eye on him, let me know if anything changes." Her hand held her uninjured arm gently, "Let's get you to kitchen alright? I need to look at that hand."

She bit down on her lip as each step sent a flash of pain up through her arm and Clarice refused to look at it as Caitlyn guided her to one of the barstools, tasting blood as she slowly climbed into it and sat down, keeping her arm cradled against her chest.

"I need you to lift your arm and put it on the counter."

Clarice hesitated at first, trying to go slow but all that did was make the throbbing more constant… _screw it_. She lifted her arm up and straightened it the best she could before resting on the cool table, jaw clenched at the rush of movement brought black spots at the edges of her vision. "Damnit." She ground out as Caitlyn began gently prodding it, " _Shit_ that hurts."

"It doesn't look or feel broken…" she muttered, "Can you feel your fingers?"

"Yes." She hissed, "Yes, I can."

Caitlyn reached behind her, grabbing the large black case that constituted as a first aid kit from the jeeps and pulling out a roll of bandages and small metal clips before rummaging in the fridge and pulling out a bag of frozen peas, "Well good news is, it's not broken…just a bad sprain."

Clarice nodded. "Bad news?"

"To avoid worsening the injury, I would refrain making portals for at least a week." Caitlyn frowned, placing the frozen vegetables over the bruised skin. "But I'll need to get some of the swelling down before I wrap it. Keep this on while I go check on John."

Clarice caught her wrist, "Checks his ears? I saw blood."

Caitlyn's expression was grim and she went to look, kit in hand.

Marcos came out moments later, "How's the hand?"

"Caitlyn says badly sprained wrist." Her shoulders loosened as the cold began to numb the injured area, feeling the heat of Marcos as he sat down next to her. She let out a long breath, not looking up, "God, how could I have been so _stupid_?"

"Clarice…"

"I left you guys. I left _John_ and look at what they did…"

"Hey." He squeezed her shoulder, forcing her to look at him, "Clarice…"

She motioned to her hand, eyes swimming with tears. "And now this…I'm lucky he didn't break it." Her laugh was hollow, "As if he isn't blaming himself for everything else as it is and here I go, adding onto it…"

"Look, I'm not going to argue about John's hero complex. I've know him too long for that, but what I am going to tell you is this and you're going to listen…" his gaze was intense and piercing, "This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. None of it."

She blinked at him.

"John would tell you the same thing, hypocrite that he is."

"He did." Her voice cracked, remembering the look in his eyes as she'd wrapped him up in the back of the jeep, how he'd leaned into her gentle touch like he'd been starved, his small smile as she rested her forehead against his…

 _You saved me…_

"And you'll have a hard time saying otherwise." Marcos' voice broke into the memory, his expression almost fond despite everything. "Because in case you haven't noticed, he's pretty damn stubborn when he wants to be."

Clarice let out a small snort.

Marcos looked down at your hand, "And as for the wrist…it'll heal."

She raised a brow, "That's all you got?"

"In the grand scheme of things…it's minor." He glanced back at the bedroom, "You're alive, Clarice…you and John both. Whatever happens now, I know you'll both get through it all and be stronger for it."

"But he almost wasn't. _"_ Clarice failed to bite back the words, to push away the image of John chained and bleeding out of her mind or the tray of guns and power tools gleaming ominously in the dim lighting… What would've happened if they been just a minute later? Would there have been anyone left to save? "One more shot and he would've been…"

Marcos gathered her into his arms, his warmth doing little to push back the numbness as she began to sob. He held her as tightly as he could given her injured, icing arm, hand moving up and down her back as he murmured into her hair, "But he isn't. He's going to be okay. Focus on that and only on that, okay?"

She nodded, eyes closing as he kissed the top of her head.

He pulled back as Caitlyn and Lauren came out, "I'll go sit with him."

The woman came out, tossing the dirtied bandages before washing her hands in the sink while Lauren pulled out a small pair of scissors and bottle of ibuprofen to set alongside the bandages her mother had already grabbed earlier, dropping two white tablets into her palm and holding them out.

Clarice caught her gaze for a split second as she took the pills, not sure what there was to say. She'd seen the look in Andy's eyes when he turned on the Purifier, the loud _crack_ of breaking bone heard from where she stumbled under John's weight. There were no words that could lessen the horror and the grief of watching someone you love become unrecognizable…

Caitlyn handed her a glass of water, waiting until she'd swallowed the pills before lifting the frozen peas off, feeling the bones of her wrist and hand before straightening out her fingers and unrolling the gauze.

Clarice watched Caitlyn as she wrapped her hand, noting the haunted look in her eyes as she did so. She remembered John donning the same look on the ride back, like whatever had been done to him in that compound had hollowed him out…left him empty… "Caitlyn?"

The woman blinked, "Yes?"

"His ears?"

"If I had to guess, his enhanced senses are probably known to anyone who looks at his file. With what I saw, it looks as though they used either loud noises or music to…torture him. With his healing factor, there won't be lasting damage but I imagine that his ears are still ringing in the least. Did he say anything about a headache or a migraine?"

She raised a brow, "What do you think?"

Caitlyn sighed, "Well…just try to make a little noise as possible. Keep that wrist elevated and loosen it if you need to."

"Thank you Caitlyn…and I'm sorry."

She forced a small smile, "I'll be out on the couch."

Clarice watched her and Lauren leave, sighing as the door shut.

She slid off the barstool and made her way back to their bedroom, observing Marcos as he crouched on the other side of the bed, leaving the chair open for her as he applied lukewarm compresses to John's flushed face and neck while murmuring to him in Spanish.

John didn't react to her entrance, still moving fitfully with fever.

Marcos glanced up as she sat down. "Hey."

"Hey. Any change?"

He shook his head.

She rested her chin in her uninjured hand, eyes drifting to the edges of the too-white bandages as she watched every rise and fall of his chest. Clarice hated seeing him like this, so delirious with pain that he didn't know where he was or who he was with…

"He told you about the pills…didn't he?"

Clarice sucked in a sharp breath, "He talked to you about…?"

"He didn't have to." Marcos' expression fell, "I was still new to the Underground when our first safe house was hit…it was a massacre. One little girl named Lucy was covered in these…bone spikes that would shoot from her skin," He dipped the rag back into the bowl, squeezing out some of the water, "She'd just watched one of her siblings get cut down and John went to shield her right as she released them."

She shuddered at the image.

"She turned him into a pin cushion." Marcos' swallowed thickly, "It took Lorna and me nearly an hour to pull them all out and no matter how much we pushed him or how bad it got, he staunchly refused anything to make it easier. It wasn't the first time he'd refused medication and Lorna had just assured me he was stubborn, although I suspect she knew as well, but I knew there was more because he had this…look in his eyes then."

Clarice watched something flicker in his gaze.

"You work with the cartel long enough, you learn what that look means."

She dropped her head, an invisible hand squeezing her chest. "Does he know that you…?"

Marcos shook his head, pressing the washcloth to his forehead, "No and he doesn't need to because it wouldn't change anything. I will never see him as anything less than a tough son of a bitch with a heart of gold and a stubborn streak a mile wide."

Clarice smiled, "You're a good friend, you know that?"

"Here I thought I was just a pain in the ass."

She grinned. "I mean, you are but…"

Marcos chuckled, straightening with a groan and picking up the bowl and washcloth. He came around the end of the bed and placed them in her lap. "I'll leave you two alone…if you need anything, I'll be next door."

"Thank you, Marcos…I know having Lorna around was hard."

His expression dimmed, "Getting him back was worth it. I'll see you in the morning."

Clarice nodded, waiting until the door of the apartment shut before she reached down to pick up the washcloth. She was careful to balance the bowl on her thighs while she squeezed the washcloth out as much as she was able with her only working hand.

The time passed relatively slowly as the water got colder and colder and John's breathing became a lot less labored, the lines of pain on his face smoothing out as he finally fell into a much-needed dreamless sleep.

She was exhausted and all Clarice wanted was to curl into his side, but that currently wasn't an option so she just pulled the chair up as close to the edge of the bed as she could get. Grabbing a pillow she propped up her wrapped hand on it before folding her arm underneath her cheek, falling asleep to the sound of John's steady breathing…

…

Clarice awoke to a muffled crash from the bathroom, finding herself lying in the bed…alone.

She went to reach for the lamp before she realized it was broken on the floor.

Clarice slid off the other side of the bed and shuffled through the pitch black bedroom toward the crack of light coming from the slightly ajar door, trying to shove down the fear knotting her stomach as she got closer without another sound.

Remembering his still healing ears, she tried to make as little noise as possible as she pushed it open with her good hand. She winced as the hinges squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper as she poked her head around the corner, "John?"

He was leaning heavily against the wall, having removed his old bandages by hand. A fresh white roll of gauze and elastic wrapping laid on the floor along with what looked the mirror cabinet door, probably the source of the sound. John turned his head toward her.

She bit back a sigh, "What are you doing?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"John…"

"I was just getting in the shower." He didn't move, "I'll be fine."

"The new renovations say otherwise." She stepped into the bathroom, "Let me help."

"Clarice." He finally turned those dark eyes on her. "I'm fine."

It wasn't the edge in his voice that stopped her in her tracks, but the emotions lingering far back in his gaze. He was wary...hesitant...Neither was one she'd seen from him before and that concerned her. _What had happened to him in that compound?_

She shoved the question from her mind, "I'm not leaving you again."

He tried for a smile, "I think I can manage a shower."

Clarice nudged the bathroom door shut with her foot, leaning back against it with a raised eyebrow, "Well, I'm staying right here. So we can either stand here arguing all night or you can strip and get in the tub."

He pursed his lips.

She smirked, "I can join you if that'll make it easier."

He frowned, expression clouded, "Clarice…"

"I'm sorry. That was…poor timing." She worried her lip, "But seriously…just let me help."

His eyes drifted to her wrapped hand, jaw clenching.

"Hey, don't do that. Don't put my stupidity on you."

"Clarice…"

"No matter how many times you say my name like that I'm not going to leave." She softened both her expression and her voice, smiling at him fondly despite everything. "So am I allowed to help or would you rather do it alone?"

The last word sparked that empty look once again, his eyes looking straight through her as he swayed a little on his feet and Clarice shuddered. She made herself approach him slowly, like he was some wounded animal backed into a corner. She didn't like making that comparison in regards to him… "John, you still with me?"

He blinked, coming back instantly, "Yeah."

"Do you want my help?"

For a moment, he looked like he was about to disagree before he nodded.

"Alright." She smiled, walking around him to turn on the shower as scalding as she could manage before drawing the curtain closed. Clarice had a hard time ignoring the large bruises covering the entirety of his back as she stripped before helping him undress and step under the water.

John stood still and leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

This allowed Clarice to carefully clean his body with the first bottle she grabbed, which turned out to be her own body wash. Her vision blurred with tears when she went to wash his hair, John flinching whenever she got near his ears. She very nearly paused when she saw his chest, hands gentle as she washed around the small, angry open wounds, remembering his screams as Lorna pulled the pellets out…

His hand reached up to cup her face, "Clarice, look at me."

She blinked up at him through the water and the tears.

Those dark eyes had clarity to them that she hadn't seen since she'd left him at the clinic. There was no anger or guilt or pain clouding it as he gazed at her, his thumb brushing over the mark under her eye, "I love you."

Now she was the unsteady one, heart pounding in her ears. While he'd never said those words specifically, she'd always known his feelings. They came screaming through every action he did, every look, every touch, every kiss…but _God,_ she didn't think she'd ever get a chance to hear him speak those words with that intensity in his eyes… "John…"

"I know I haven't shown that recently…" His expression shifted for only a moment, that familiar guilt reappearing as he combed back the hair plastered to her face, his palm resting against her pulse, "I'm sorry that I said all the horrible things to you at the clinic, I never meant any of it. You know that, right?"

She pushed herself onto her tiptoes, her unwrapped hand using his shoulder as leverage to press her lips to his. Despite the hot water and soap that turned their skin flushed and wet, she didn't feel the urge to anything more than just _hold_ him.

His eyes slipped closed with a sigh as she finally pulled back to breathe, pressing his forehead against hers while fingers trailed down the curve of her spine with just the barest amount of pressure. " _God_ , I don't deserve you."

She swallowed thickly, blinking back the tears, "Come on, let's get dried off."

He nodded wordlessly.

Clarice bent to turn the water off, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself and stepping out she could support him as he stepped over the edge of the tub. She handed him a towel while she picked the supplies off the floor as well as grab another towel from under the sink to gently dry off his back and chest and she was relieved to find that most of the bleeding had stopped as she began to wrap him up, a hand on his hip as much to keep the wrapping in place as to reassure herself that he was still _here_ with her. _Alive._ He was _home…_

He kept himself still the entire time, just watching her.

Any other day, she might've made a comment about the holes he was burning into the side of her head but as she brought the white bandages over his shoulders like one of his stupid tight tank tops and she found herself smiling at the familiar irritation coloring the thought.

After multiple assurances, she left him to grab a change of clothes when she saw Caitlyn stripping the sheet and pulling on new ones. Clarice suddenly remembered that the woman hadn't actually left the apartment…

Caitlyn smiled warmly… _motherly_ , "Are you both good?"

"Yeah and…thanks. You didn't have to do all of this."

"It feels good to actually _do_ something." She motioned to the chair that looked as though it had been turned into a makeshift bedside table, where two white tablets and four bottles of Gatorade sat, "I left you some ibuprofen and Gatorade. Make sure he drinks at least two."

"I will, now go back to Lauren and Reed. They need you too."

Caitlyn's expression faltered before she nodded, "I'll check on you both in the morning?"

"Yes." She smiled at the woman sadly, " _Go_."

It wasn't until the front door of the apartment shut that John finally came out of the bathroom, something unreadable in his eyes for only a moment before it disappeared. She made no comment on it as she helped him into shorts and pulled on one of his shirts before forcing an open Gatorade into his hand, "You heard Caitlyn, drink."

He obediently finished two while she took her ibuprofen and pulled back the sheets.

She turned off the lights and waited until he'd found a comfortable position before joining him, drawing the comforter and sheets up over them. Clarice tucked herself against his side, resting her bandaged hand on his chest and closing her eyes as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I love you too, you know."

His lips curled against her skin, "I know."

She blinked back the tears as his hold on her tightened and she nearly laughed as she felt Zingo curl herself into a ball by their feet. The moment felt so surreal like this was a dream and she would wake up to an empty bed and hollow chest, but she pressed herself closer to him and the scent of her body wash lingering on his skin was like a balm when she took a deep breath.

For now, they were safe…they were home.

That was all that mattered.


	14. proMises

Okay, small freakout aside (HE SAID HE LOVED HER!) I wanted to apologize for this taking so long but I watched the episode a little later than usual. I'm not entirely sure what this is as I feel as though Clarice's train of thought is all over the place with this piece but I hope you guys all read it and enjoy! Let me know what you think!

* * *

Clarice watched his expression, seeing the softness and weariness disappear behind a wall in his eyes as he pushed himself up. If she could ignore the slight sheen to his skin or the bandages around his chest, it was like the pain had just vanished…and she hated Evangeline in that moment as she watched John stand and walk to the bathroom.

 _John had just been tortured for God's sake!_ He needed to rest, to heal…not plan for a damn war, not shove down everything down like he'd done for the last six months because he was the leader and couldn't show weakness and act like everything was fine when it clearly was not…

Caitlyn's words spun around her head until she felt dizzy.

" _People bend, they adapt, but they don't change."_

The tears that had blurred her vision spilled over once more, Clarice pulling her knees to her chest. She rested her forehead on her knees as the shower started, allowing the small choked sob to slip out. " _Damnit_ John."

No matter how mad she got at the woman, it wouldn't really change anything.

" _This is who John is and who the world needs him to be."_

John would always be a fighter, a leader, a soldier…a protector. He been one long before she'd ever met him, before the Underground was created. He'd fought in wars as a Marine before he'd ever donned the name Thunderbird.

Evangeline knew this. It was why he'd been chosen.

He would never give up, never stop fighting…not until it killed him.

Clarice shuddered as the image of him chained up and bleeding flashing through her mind. It haunted her every waking moment and featured in every nightmare when she actually managed to fall asleep…

" _Yeah, but what about what I need him to be?"_

Those hours spent agonizing over whether or not he was alive were the worst of her life, her brain conjuring up the old memories of Mama D and Carl's house: the sight of sunlight streaming through bullet holes, the glass crunching under her shoes, the large pools of blood a dull red against the white tile…

She couldn't help thinking that it was happening again, that someone she cared for had died because she'd left…because it had been too hard for her to stay. Because that was how she'd always dealt with it when the shit life had thrown at her became too much…she ran.

She ran, left others before they could leave her…

And John, he refused to let anything… _anyone_ go…

" _I-I lost Pulse and I lost Dreamer and it's hard for me to be this close to someone." He held her stare, those dark fathomless eyes full of so much pain and grief, "I get scared to lose someone else that I love."_

" _John, I don't want to lose you, too." She was smiling despite the tears, "I'm scared."_

 _He brushed them away with a gentle hand, a small smile curling his lips…_

That was what it really boiled down to.

 _Fear._

The fear of abandonment and loss had always fueled their lives and every decision they'd made up to this point, every feeling they'd ever had. Clarice couldn't help but see that just how many of their arguments over the last few weeks had been full of it.

His bruised knuckles came to the forefront of her mind, her own hands curling in response.

Even now, she feared what would happen if she left for good. If she succumbed to her old habits and joined the Morlocks like Erg seemed to want so badly… Clarice swallowed at the thought, hating that the answer seemed to already be there in the back of her mind just waiting to make itself known.

John would unravel at the seams, the anger and self-depreciation of all he'd lost consuming him.

It scared her, how much he needed her, how much she grounded him…

How much he loved her.

" _You love each other. It's gonna be okay."_

Clarice remembered the comment she'd bitten back about how love didn't solve everything, didn't fix anything. Marcos and Lorna could barely be around each other now and the Struckers themselves seemed to be held together by sheer force of will more than anything else…

Love could harm as well as heal.

 _Could John's love for her keep him from completely losing himself?_

 _Could her love for him keep her at his side through a war?_

"Clarice?"

She lifted her head, startled from her thoughts.

John stood in the doorway of their bedroom, towel hanging low on his hips and hair still dripping. He'd removed his bandages, his bare torso a mess of bruising and angry red scabs. He had to be in pain, but he just looked at her with raw concern. "What's wrong?"

Clarice blinked, realizing that she was still crying. She shook her head and wiped the tears away with the hem of her shirt as she stood, "It's nothing, John. I'm fine. You should uh…you should let me help you with your wrappings."

He frowned, catching her wrist when she went to pass him, "Tell me what's wrong."

Clarice glanced down at their hands: his bruised knuckled and her bitten down nails, before looking up at him. She reached up with her other hand, tracing the pink scars on his face that would no doubt be gone soon. "I'm scared, John."

Like he had in the back of the jeep, he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

"I am too."

The words surprised her and she saw his small smile. For as long as she'd been with him, he'd rarely said that he was nervous or scared or unsure of anything. Usually, any straightforward answer about how he felt was equivalent to pulling teeth, but given how the last few months had gone…

"Don't look so surprised."

"Don't sound so amused." She fired back, stepping back and around him to grab a fresh roll of bandages from the generous supply Caitlyn had left them from the bathroom, returning to find John wearing shorts and sitting at the end of the bed while he towel dried his hair.

He smiled sideways at her, "What?"

"Arms up." She said as she came to stand in front of him and he immediately lifted them, Clarice not able to completely disguise her own grimace when he winced. She kept her hand steady as she held on end of the bandages to his hip, hoping the teasing note in her voice was believable as she slowly unrolled it, "You're being rather…cooperative."

John said nothing as the bandages reached his chest.

She paused, looking up.

He was watching her, the concern still evident in his eyes.

"What?"

"Are you going to tell me why you were so upset?"

She opened her mouth, closed it, "I did tell you."

"Why does everyone forget I can hear heartbeats?" he muttered.

"Probably because it's kind of weird." She smiled at him as he chuckled, her expression falling when he tensed so slightly. "How 'bout I finished wrapping you up and then we'll talk…that work for you?"

He nodded, "Yeah."

She finished in silence, handing John probably his fifth Gatorade of the day and almost laughed at the disgruntled expression he made as he drank it. She changed into one of his shirts and climbed into bed next to him.

He held out a hand palm up.

She took it, intertwining their fingers and pressing their forearms together. Clarice took a moment to just feel the pulse in his wrist, as strong and steady as always, before resting their hands on her leg.

He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Clarice let out a shaky breath, "I'm scared John…" she was surprised at the tears, not sure she'd had any left to shed, "I'm scared that when you walk out that door and jump headfirst into this war…that you won't come back."

"Clarice…"

Her head snapped up, "Don't you _dare_ make any false promises, John Proudstar."

"Wouldn't dream of it, _Blink_."

 _Damnit Marcos._ She groaned. "Are we really bringing that up now… _Thunderbird_?"

His smile was only slightly forced, "No jokes here. I like it."

She dropped her head, face warm.

"Clarice…" his fingers ghosted along her jaw, "look at me."

She lifted her face, turning her cheek into his palm.

"I know better than to make promises I can't keep." his gaze ran slowly over her features, as if soaking them in, thumb brushing over the mark under her eye, "I know that I won't be able to control what happens in this fight, but…"

Clarice closed her eyes as he rested his forehead against hers.

"God, I've made so many mistakes…done so many things wrong…"

She squeezed his hand as he trailed off.

His fingers moved up, tracing the point of her ear and combing through her hair as he cupped the back of her head. "But you're still here, still by my side even when I treated you so terribly and tried to push you away. You stayed… _Shiyá'ái háyáá."_

Clarice shuddered, the syllables washing over her.

"My sunrise." His smile could be heard in his voice as his fingers tightened in her hair and her hand, "My beautiful sunrise…my reminder of a better life, a better world for me and for everyone I love. A better world for _us_."

" _John_ …"

"This is my promise to you." He leaned back, both hands now holding her face, "No matter what happens to me, no matter who or what I may face. I will _always_ find my way back to you."

Clarice leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a burning kiss she felt in the deepest, darkest parts of herself. Heat followed his hands as they slid down her back and lifted her up and into his lap and she carefully back leaned back, nearly smiling as she reached down to stop his hands from moving up her legs, "Now I'm going to tell you something."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Now I don't have your…way with words, but…" she combed her hair over to one side, trying to form anything remotely as impressive and breathtaking as his small speech, but coming up short. _Straight to the point it is_. "I love you. More than I've ever loved another person and I will _not_ sit on the sideline and wait dutifully for you safe return-"

"I would never ask you too."

"No interruptions."

He smiled, lowering his chin, "Yes ma'am."

"As I was saying…" she cleared her throat, ignoring the laughter in his eyes, "if you think you're doing this without me, you have another thing coming. I don't care what Evangeline says or what her plans for you are, I'm not leaving your side for a second."

"Clarice…"

" _That's_ my promise to you."

He grinned after a long moment, "Very well put."

Her smile widened, "I thought so."

His fingers traced patterns into her skin, "So now that all's been said…"

"We're going to sleep." She laughed at the flash of disappointment she saw. "Okay?"

His expression softened, "Stay with me?"

"I thought I already made a big speech about how I would."

He chuckled, keeping an arm around her as they both laid down.

She smiled into his shoulder as she curled into his side.

Maybe Caitlyn was right.

Maybe everything was going to be okay.


	15. iMplode

Takes places after 2x12.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is going to be a heavy one since John is not in good head space and I apologize in advance...

 **Trigger Warning: blood, self-harm, depression, mentions of past drug addiction, and mention of suicidal thoughts.**

* * *

John stared at nothing, unmoving and still even as a storm ravaged him inside.

He could hear the movement of everyone in the complex, a hundred different footfalls and heartbeats drumming into his head like an ice pick. John hardly winced as a headache began building behind his eyes, throbbing in time with his own pounding pulse.

He forced himself up from the bathroom floor and stiffened.

Clarice wrapped a towel around her wet body, eyes glittering mischievously.

The sight was like a shotgun blast, a reminder that she'd stood there just hours before with love in her gaze and light in her smile. He could still smell the lavender and sage steam that had wafted from the shower, drops forming on her skin…

He very nearly reached out, to cup her cheek like he'd done then, pull her in…

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the images didn't stop. They never did.

 _Purple hair spilling across the pillow…_

 _Bright laughter and the pad of bare feet…_

 _A sleepy smile…_

 _His shirt slipping off her frame, exposing a bare shoulder…_

She was everywhere, a phantom presence that would linger for months…

John sank onto the couch, head clutched tightly in his hands. He racked fingers through his hair, the dull flare of pain completely drowned out by the agony gripping his chest and squeezing, squeezing, _squeezing…_

He gasped, taking a lungful of air that had his injuries aching in protest.

" _I love you too much to watch you kill yourself."_

Her words were a white-hot poker had been driven through him, both then and now.

The pain was visceral, raw, like something vital had been torn from him.

God, it was all too much. He'd lost too much. Gus, Sonya, Evangeline, and now Clarice. Everyone he had ever loved, everyone who had pulled him from the darkness and kept him grounded had left him. He was so _lost_. Reeling. Off-kilter. Stumbling…

Right into a minefield of his own making.

He bent over, the guilt and the sadness and the pain bombarding him on all sides as he bit back his scream. Sonya's airy laughter, Gus' easy smile, Evangeline's steady gaze, Clarice's sharp tongue. A pile of wildflowers, an unmarked grave, a burned out building, a cloud of dust swirling around a closed portal…

Then the anger joined the mix, engulfing him as it had in that instant on the hill, watching as the bodies of people ( _his_ people) were loaded one by one into the back of the ambulances, smelling the stench of burnt flesh, hearing the echoing screams and explosions as the building blew apart…

Feeling nothing but grief and rage…such rage…

He barely remembered the words that had exploded from him then, the red shroud over his vision diluting everything else as he'd swung at Erg. The blow to the chest had knocked him back to reality but in the split seconds before he hit the ground, he couldn't feel the roiling tide of darkness in him…he was as numb as his stone skin.

And it had been such a goddamn _relief_.

That relief had been a reminder of a time he tried not to dwell on, a time he drowned his emotions in the fighting and the drinking and the pills. A time where he'd found his enhanced senses as little more than a curse, a cruel cosmic joke that forced him to listen to all the world and its ugliness, to see it as vividly as he were right there…and leave him unable to do anything, unable to protect anyone…

A time that Evangeline had pulled him out of.

But now she was gone.

Everyone was _gone._

He lashed out, the coffee table splintering under his fist. " _Damnit!_ "

Surging to his feet, he ran, mindless of a destination and somehow finding himself right back in the junkyard when that familiar scarlet gaze enveloped him completely. He didn't register the sound of his hands smashing into the metal and glass over and over again or the screeching as he ripped the car frames apart or the heavy scent of his own blood mixing with the rust and oil and mud…

But he could finally feel something else in those moments, something other than the emotional maelstrom ripping through him. It didn't matter that it was his own skin splitting, his own muscles and tendons tearing, or his own bones cracking.

He didn't care about how wrong it was.

He deserved this pain.

All of it.

For everything he'd done.

All the people he'd failed ( _"I couldn't make them believe"_ ).

All the lives lost because of him _("I'll make them pay for what they did to you"_ ).

All the hearts broken ( _"I'm saying goodbye"_ ).

He screamed, a guttural sound that was more wounded animal than a person, and fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself like he could keep from breaking apart completely. But it was slipping through his grasp like blood, pouring from the gaping hole in his chest…

God, it still hurt.

Everything _fucking_ hurt-

His fingers ached and throbbed and itched to hit, to tear, to maim...

He forced himself upright, needing to feel more pain, to cause more damage regardless of the small voice screaming the back or his mind to _stop, reconsider, you don't have to do this_ and _we can find another way…_

Another voice was breaking through the pain, a whisper that somehow overshadowed the chaos of his mind, a low purr that promised relief, a way to numb everything he was feeling inside right now, to quiet all the noise and dull the pain for _just a little bit_ …

His hands trembled, his body already remembering the feeling of the blissful numbness-

"No." He choked out, shaking his head, "I don't want that."

 _But you do. Already your body betrays you…_

He tried to shove the voice aside with all the reasons he shouldn't and reminding him of his purpose like he'd always done. But the reasons were becoming outnumbered and overwhelmed ( _shewasgoneshewasgone-_ )and the purpose of leading the Underground seemed further and further from his grasp, which only made the voice more persistent.

 _Everyone left you…they abandoned you…deserted your cause…_

He clenched his jaw, putting his bloody fist _through_ the metal. "Stop!"

 _What kind of leader stands by and lets their people die?_

He swings again and again, the pain not piercing the white noise. Everything besides the voice; every thought, every feeling; was static to him. Indecipherable. Dulled to just the barest of sensations as his blood smeared across the metal…

 _You failed them all. As a leader, a soldier, a man…_

John was sure something in his hand cracked.

 _She left you. What kind of person wants to be around a failure like you?_

Tears blurred his vision and his muscles burned…

 _Marcos will leave you too…leave you and go back to Lorna…_

He staggered, remembering the night he'd sat Marcos and Lorna down and the morning lying in bed with Clarice, when he opened up them about his past addiction. They hadn't ever judged him, not once, but a small part always whispered that they'd seen him as a weak, disappointment of a man.

 _They knew it then. Couldn't wait to get rid of you…_

He was running, running, _running_ , trying to block it out, to burn it away with exhaustion but as he slowed in front of the apartment building, her voice was the one that came back and it was almost worse…

" _Hey handsome, wanna go home?"_

 _Home?_ The voice spat. _That isn't a home, not anymore…_

John ignored both voices as he moved stiffly across the street, somewhat glad that the late hour kept others from seeing him like this, seeing him broken and alone, looking at him with sadness and pity…

 _There's no one here to see you fall so why does it matter?_

He clenched his jaw and shook his head, muttering, "Stop, stop, stop, stop…"

 _You're alone now and you always will be._

His hands throbbed in unison as if his body was telling him that hurting himself hadn't made the agony in his chest any more bearable…it only multiplied the pain and reminded him just broken he was, in body and in mind…how much of a failure he was for slipping so badly…

 _What does it matter now if you slip a little further?_

John curled his hands into fists, pain once moving up his arms. "No more…"

 _It's not like anyone is going to notice anyway…_

Somehow, he'd stumbled to their apartment where the ghost of Clarice haunted him with every step, every breath... Tormented him with faint laughter that echoed off the walls, wide smiles reflecting the light, the play of shadow over her body and those breathtaking, brilliant green eyes…

" _Where Blink, the woman you claim to love, has to hide who she is?"_

Erg's words sent a new wave of anger washing over him because he didn't know a _damn_ thing about him and Clarice. He hated watching her cover herself up from the world as much as she did, hated how the world couldn't see just how amazing and resilient and funny and _beautiful_ she was. They never saw past her eyes…

 _Her watery eyes reflecting the sunlight as she turned away, her hand falling from his…_

His throat closed up, the tears finally spilling over as a choked sob slipped out…

And the last pieces of his resistance shattered.

A shudder went through him as he moved to the bathroom, hands shaking as he pulled out the first aid kit from out and dumped the contents into the sink. The two orange pill bottles seemed to glow in the dim light, like a last ditch effort from his mind to _stop this, stop this right now, don't do this, don't go down this road…_

He picked both up, turning them to find that there no labels.

 _Makes sense_ , a part of him noted, _can't be traced back to the clinic_.

 _Doesn't matter what's in there...it'll numb you just the same._

He sank to the floor and let himself fall back against the open bathroom door, dimly aware of the faint splintering of the wood behind him. He slowly rotated the bottles, the sound of pills against plastic so loud in his ears. An old, familiar sound…

"John?'

He didn't look up, but caught a flash of emerald hair.

A small part of him had expected Marcos (he could now hear him hovering just off the side), but it had never occurred to them that Lorna would ever return to the apartments…not when everyone looked at her with such blatant distrust and betrayal.

Then again, Lorna didn't care too much what the others thought of her.

"John, can you hear me?"

His voice was surprisingly hollow when he responded, "I can hear everything."

Lorna knelt in front of him, smelling of leather and metal. "Look at me."

John continued to slowly rotate the bottles, but the rest of his body was immovable and it was a wonder he was even breathing…or was he? The pain in his chest was layers of aching and throbbing and burning.

"John, please talk to me."

He flinched as her voice cracked. Lorna hardly ever cracked. She was as cool and sharp as the knives currently strapped to her thighs, her smiles always carrying an edge to them whether it be playful or angry, but he'd never heard this pain, this pleading in her tone…

She was scared.

 _He was scaring her…_

 _See? All you do is hurt people…disappoint them…_

"Talking doesn't change anything." John spoke, "Doesn't change the fact that Evangeline is dead and Clarice is gone. Talking doesn't fix what happened in Atlanta or that the Underground is dying. Talking won't change the fact that it's all my fault."

"No." Lorna snapped, the familiar hardness back in her voice, "You don't get to do that."

His lifted his gaze, "Does it really matter what I do?"

Her lips parted in shock, eyes widening at whatever she saw, "John…"

"Everyone leaves anyway. _You'll_ leave…again."

Hurt flashed across her face and she flinched.

"And even if you leave, I'll still see you…like I see her." _Clarice._ He couldn't even say her name now, the syllables trapped in his throat like speaking it would conjure her image. "She's like a ghost, torturing me with the reminder that my love wasn't enough. That I wasn't enough…" His fingers flexed on the bottles, the plastic starting to crack, "And it _hurts,_ Lorna. I just- I want…I _need_ the pain to stop."

"The pills, John…they don't help. You always told me that."

"You don't understand, I can't…they're too much. It's all too much…" He shook his head like he could dislodge the hurricane raging in his mind. "The emotions just keep pressing and pressing and pressing and I feel like-"

Lorna's voice was soft now, "Like you're drowning?"

He pressed his lips into a line. _He'd said too much_.

"I _do_ understand, John." She reached out, placing her hands over his, "I _know_ what's it's like to not want to feel anything. To just lay down and block out the world because then you wouldn't have to think about everything and everyone that you've lost. To just go to sleep and not care if you wake up or not."

Marcos sucked in a sharp breath.

"You never left me then. You helped me through it." She tightened her fingers despite the bruises and the blood so he could _feel_ her, "I'm not leaving you, John…not like this. So please… _please…_ Just let me help you, _bruder_."

The word sent a pang through him that he could feel above everything. It had been so long since he'd heard that term of endearment from her because the language, like his, was a reminder of a family they'd left behind one way or another.

The lump in his throat cracked apart, a broken sound escaping. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, _shilah_."

Her smile was so sad, "Give me the pills, John."

He released his grip, hearing her toss them to Marcos and tell him _to get rid of them_.

 _Not hide them. Get rid of them._

His hands shook and he looked down, horrified at what he'd done to himself.

He'd expected the bruises and blood but not the long lacerations into his palms and up his forearms or the sickening gleam of white where his knuckles had split to the bone. It had been so long since he done this much damage to himself.

"John," Her hands cupped his face, "look at me."

He lifted his head.

"Let's get you off the floor and onto the bed-"

He cut her off, voice sharp, "Not the bed."

She blinked, something flashing across her eyes, "The couch then?"

He nodded, slowly getting to his feet and following her out to the main room, noting that the splintered remains of the table had been piled up at one end. He could hear Marcos moving around in the kitchen, muttering irritably in Spanish. "The mugs are in the cupboard left of the microwave. Top shelf."

Marcos paused, "How in the hell-"

" _Taza de café_." Was his simple response.

"Your accent sucks, you know that?"

Lorna chuckled, "If I recall, I said the same to you at one point."

John almost cracked a smile at the familiar interaction, like no time had passed-

The faint scent of strawberries hit him the moment the images did: Clarice with her arm slung over the back of the couch, cheek resting on her hand as she watched him, the sunlight through the window bringing out strands of violet and rose gold in her hair…

He shook his head, the image bringing him crashing back to earth.

Lorna noticed his change of mood, holding up the first aid kit, "Permission to approach?"

He raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged, sitting down next to him. "Thought I'd try it out. Take off your shirt."

"Just my hands, Lorna."

She frowned, "If you don't _take_ it off, I'm _cutting_ it off."

Marcos hummed, "Should I be jealous, babe?"

John was sure his expression mirrored Lorna's, an incredulous almost horrified look.

Marcos laughed, "Oh my God…your faces!"

Lorna rolled her eyes fondly, shaking her head, "John…"

He glanced at Marcos, his friend's dark eyes bright with laughter and sighed, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips before he turned to eye the long sleeves sticking to his skin with a sigh. _Another shirt to the trash_. "Just cut it off. It's a lost cause anyways."

With practice ease, she cut away both his shirt and bandages.

He sat still as she wiped his chest and back with a wet washcloth, watching as she placed bandages over the spots of skin still healing from the buckshot. Again, the familiarity of the whole interaction had him remembering a different time…

She said nothing as she finished wrapped and moved on to his hands.

He went to straighten his fingers when she stopped him, running a glowing hand back and forth over his own, "You have some metal in here. I need to take it out."

John steeled himself as she tugged.

Lorna set aside the small shards of bloody metal before continuing on. Her expression didn't change as she cleaned the wounds, pale skin streaked with red as she wiped around some of the larger lacerations.

He didn't move for the next half hour, even as Lorna pressed the bandages down onto his broken knuckles or when Marcos cauterized some of the deep cuts on his forearms. He didn't say anything either as the two bickered occasionally, teasing him as they put him back together because, for that small piece of time, it was just the three of them.

" _We need to be able to depend on each other 100%."_

" _1,000%."_

" _Always."_

Lorna squeezed his shoulder hard enough for him to feel the pressure.

He came out the memory, looking at the woman, his partner of so many years, his sister _,_ and his heart ached. He knew she couldn't stay, that she had to leave before anyone knew where she'd gone…who'd she'd been with. "You're going back."

"Yes." She reached up with her other hand, palm pressed to his cheek. "I'm sorry."

John smiled sadly, "Be careful, _shilah_."

Lorna pressed a kiss to his forehead and stepped back with a sharp smile, a knife spinning between her fingers. Her eyes glowed with a ferocity and confidence, "Always."

Marcos kissed her goodbye, dark eyes watching her leave with such longing.

John slowly got to his feet, a bandaged hand on his shoulder. "She'll be back."

"She won't be the only one."

John blinked, turning to Marcos.

"Clarice left because she was scared, John. Scared of losing anyone else she loved." He held John's gaze with his own, "You and I both know the power of fear…and love. She may have left, but she isn't gone. Lorna came back, brother. You have to believe Clarice will too."

His fingers dug into Marcos' skin, no doubt bruising him, but his friend didn't even flinch.

"Let's go back to my apartment tonight, alright?"

John nodded gratefully, pulling on the shirt he'd been handed and he looked back at the apartment at faint scent of her strawberry shampoo to find her just out of arm's reach, looking at him with those brilliant eyes and radiant smile as she watched him leave.

" _She may have left, but she isn't gone."_

"John?"

He shook his head, her image vanishing as he blinked and turned, "Hmm?"

Marcos was looked at him thinly veiled concern, "Ready to go?"

" _Lorna came back, brother. You have to believe Clarice will too."_

"Yeah."


	16. nuMb

Takes place after 2x14.

Well, here's an angsty one-shot that absolutely _no one_ asked for! This is one of my shorter pieces, but I rewrote it three different times so I'm not really sure if I like how this turned out but let me know what you guys think!

 **Trigger warnings for violent thoughts, past addiction, drug cravings, depression, suicidal thoughts, and unhealthy coping mechanisms**.

* * *

He knew he needed to move, that Sentinel Services and Purifiers were closing in on all sides, but he was frozen. Immovable as he stared down at the blood covering his hand and the ground… _her_ blood, flashes of bullets tearing through her over and over again, her body jerking with each impact…

He squeezed his eyes shut, but that had never stopped his abilities before.

He couldn't block out the nauseating scent of iron mingling with gunpowder, triggering another onslaught of gunshots echoing off concrete and metal, her sharp gasp, her entire face going slack with shock as she fell to her knees…

A cold hand reached inside of him and _wrenched,_ something being ripped from him and leaving him hollow as staggered to his feet, clutching at his temples. There was nothing to hold back the darkness as it filled the holes that the light had once occupied, replacing the sunshine warmth with an all-consuming blaze that would burn everything away.

He was faintly aware of the little girl being moved away from him, Erg shielding her from him as John slammed his hands on the brick with so much force it crumbled under his palms. He should care that he was frightening her, should try to be the calm leader or even the comforting older brother he'd hadn't been for over a decade but…

He just didn't care anymore.

There was no point in pretending that it was all going to be okay. That there was a light at the end of this seemingly endless tunnel. That this war hadn't already taken away anything and everything from him…

What was the point in fighting when all he'd fought for was gone?

"John, we need to go."

A shudder went through him and he clenched his jaw, staring down the man who'd taken her away. Promised her a home, a place where she could live free of fear and persecution and the constant threat of death…a place where'd she'd be safe. _Alive._ His hands curled into fists as a lump formed in his throat, fingers sinking into the brick. "Then go."

Erg just held his ground, ushering the girl away to the other end of the alley to watch for one of their vehicles to return. One dark eye gazed at him intently and there was a flicker of something. Sadness. Grief. _Pity._ "John…"

"Don't." He forced out, "There's nothing to say."

"I'm sorry, John. I never meant for anything to happen-"

"She wasn't supposed to be down there!" _She was supposed to be with the Mutant Underground. She was supposed to be with me. She was supposed to be safe._ The final threads holding his self-control together snapped as his vision went red and he swung.

Erg flew into the air, landing on the ground with a dull thud and a low groan.

John barely heard the girl scream as he strode forward, so focused he hadn't noticed anyone else arrive until light exploded across his vision. He cried out, the pain like a sledgehammer to the head and he staggered into the wall.

"Erg, take Faith to the car."

Marcos' voice was muffled like it was underwater and his first attempt to open his eyes had him emptying what little he had in his stomach onto the ground and John couldn't even be mad at Marcos for using her enhanced senses against him…

John wasn't sure what would've happened if he hadn't…

He came over to John, stopping just out of arms reach. "I'm sorry about the flare, but what the hell you were thinking, throwing the man across the alley when we have the cops and Sentinel Services _and_ the Purifiers on our ass?"

"He shot her, Marcos. Turner shot her." _Turner._ Something in him snarled at the thought of the man, stalking along the edges of his mind like a caged animal and it itched to be let out, to lash out at the person who was the embodiment of those who had taken _everyone_ from. To kill him like they'd killed Gus. Killed Sonya… He shook his head, trying to push it back and was almost frightened by how hard it was.

Marcos sucked in a sharp breath, "John…"

"She was right in front of me, Marcos. She was right there and…" he clenched his jaw as his head throbbed and ached, the images of those brilliant eyes holding his as she disappeared in a bright, swirling vortex of purples and pinks and blues…"Three times. He shot her three times and it just keeps playing over and over again…"

"Is she-"

"I don't know." He cut him off before the word _dead_ was spoken aloud, but that didn't stop his thoughts from spiraling. It didn't lessen the weight pressing down on his chest, the act of breathing becoming more difficult with each second…

"John?"

Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. Not breathing.

Maybe then he wouldn't have to smell her blood anymore or hear the gunshots or hear her fall…

"Hey, look at me." Marcos' fingers dug into his jaw, trying and failing to turn his head, "John!"

" _You're the one that said there's nothing noble about fighting for a lost cause."_

" _I was wrong. I'm sorry."_

Marcos heated up his fingertips, the sharp heat forcing John to take a breath. He almost hated how his body craved the burning touch and the agony it brought, but it was better than the emotional weight of his grief and his guilt and his anger and the pain that was slowly beginning to crush him…

So much pain.

 _There is another way, you know. Another way to free yourself from it all. To find relief…_

John slammed a steel wall against the whispers, but the _need_ was already beginning to permeate everything else and he curled his hands into fists, barely negating the urge to put them through the brick in an effort to suffocate the cravings with something else. _Anything_ else…

 _You know that won't work._

He clenched his jaw, turning his focus outward.

Three heartbeats. (Marcos. Erg. Faith.)

Oh, God. Faith, "The girl, is she okay?"

"She's rattled, but it's not all on you alight? A lot's happened."

He swallowed, "Yeah."

"I'm sorry about…" Marcos made a vague hand motion, "Everything."

John shook his head, shoving all emotion down far enough to allow himself the illusion of numbness. But he knew that all he'd done was build a dam between him and the pain and he hoped he could get to the end of this war before it broke apart because once it did, there was no coming back. He would be too lost in the dark waters, too far gone to be of any use…

He finally spoke, his voice was hard and cold, like steel…or stone, "It's fine. I'm good."

Marcos frowned, "No, you're not, but that conversation is for anywhere but here. I know you don't want to leave here, but we still have those people in the scrap yard." There was a long pause, like he was choosing his next words carefully for fear of another blowup, "Clarice would want you taking care of them. Protecting them."

Even with his eyes still firmly shut, the image of her blood on his hands was vivid, followed in rapid succession by the instant he realized Sonya was gone; the ash, blood, and tears that had coated Gus' face as he died; the echoing screams and explosions as Evangeline and the others perished…

 _Protect them? Like you protected the others?_

 _You'll fail them…just like you failed her…_

He reinforced the wall in his mind and a small part of him wondered if feeling nothing was doing more harm than good. If blocking all the bad memories was better than reminding himself of the good ones, but then he remembered that all the good memories would do was remind him of all the people he'd lost, all the people he'd buried, all the people he'd failed to keep safe…

 _Did he even have any good memories left?_

The sharp stab of agony and grief that he'd expected at the thought hit the wall, leaving little more than a dent. He straightened slowly, embracing the pain wrapping around his head and squeezing even if it had him clenching his jaw.

At least he felt that.

"Okay, let's go."

Marcos swallowed, shifting his weight, "You're not going to argue with me or-"

"You're right, we need to go. We can't stay here."

His friend seemed concerned with the lack of…anything in his voice, but didn't say anything more than, "You _do_ know your eyes are still shut, right?"

He might've smiled if the memory of Clarice asking a similar question wasn't so out of reach, so blurry and out of focus. But even the faint impression of her bright eyes and warm smile hit the wall with surprising force, leaving cracks, "Yeah, well, I don't need my eyes to see. The effects of your flare will wear off in a bit. Don't worry about me."

That last part wasn't true. There was definitely a migraine building behind his eyelids, but he didn't feel like making his friend feel worse right now. He'd bear the pain like he always had. He would survive. He always did…

Marcos smiled, "I'll always worry about you."

John said nothing more as he walked over to the car, opening the passenger side door as carefully as he could. He curled forward with one arm over his eyes, the fingers of his other hand digging into his thigh so hard it would leave bruises.

Faith sniffled, "Are you alright?"

Marcos spoke up, "Yeah, sweetheart, he will be."

John wondered if anyone else but her could hear the lie.


	17. the calM before the storM

Takes places after 2x15

Sorry that this took so long. Once again, I had to rewrite this piece a couple of times until I was (somewhat) satisfied with the result. Let me know what you guys think!

Trigger warnings for violent thoughts, depression, and suicidal thoughts.

* * *

The others had gone downstairs hours ago, leaving him alone.

John listened to the rumbling thunder, the flashes of lightning reminiscent of Marcos' flare just hours before and that ever-present guilt churned his stomach at the memory of how he'd lashed out, forcing himself to set down the tomahawk and sharpening stone before he crushed them in his fists.

" _John…"_

He squeezed his eyes shut as her voice echoed in the air, biting back a choked sob as the tears trailed silently down his face. A vice gripped his chest and it felt as though his ribcage would actually break under the pressure and finally finish off what was left of his heart.

How it still beat was a mystery to him…

"I'm sorry, Clarice." John shook his head, voice cracking, "I'm so sorry."

But her ghost was silent once more.

He opened his eyes as the thunder boomed, the black clouds moving across the sky with bursts of purple-white light, and he remembered the first thunderstorm after he'd manifested, how the combination of light and sound had been so painful to his newly enhanced senses…

He'd gladly take that pain over the…hell, he'd take _anything_ over the gaping hole in the chest.

John shook himself from those thoughts, forcing himself to return to the repetitive sharpening of the tomahawk against the stone. He knew it was well past the point of completion, but it kept him from bruising his hands further. Kept him from drowning in memories of her. Kept him from being completely useless…

He took a deep breath as another cool breeze tugged at his hair, the scent of rain in the air unable to mask the lingering smell of her skin and lavender shampoo. His hands faltered, lightning catching the edge of the blade and turning it silver.

John ran a thumb along the curve of the tomahawk.

The last time he'd held it, he'd hoped he'd never have cause to use it because despite what most thought, he'd never enjoyed the use of lethal force. He'd killed in Afghanistan because he had to, because he had to protect his people, his brothers, at all costs and it was simple as that.

He'd been sorely tempted before, though, with Roderick Campbell. The man had taken so much from him; turned Gus' brilliant light into an unrecognizable shadow for his powers and put a bullet through Sonya's heart without even blinking. Two people he loved gone.

 _Three now._

Clarice's laughter reverberated through him like thunder, her beautiful smile and vibrant eyes like a battering ram to his chest. The sound of her knees hitting the concrete, the bright red of her blood splattering across his face as the bullets tore through her…

The memories flashed through his mind like forks of lightning, igniting something in him he'd thought died after Evangeline had dragged him out of Tucson years ago. A creature that had fed on the blood and the _violence_ of those fights. That had gloried in the breaking of bone under his fists and the fear in those men's eyes every time his lips had curled into a cold smile. A darkness that had channeled all his anger and grief and pain in the worst possible way, turning him into something that made him unrecognizable even to himself.

Something unredeemable and unworthy of forgiveness.

Undeserving of love.

" _It's just my whole life, I've been running from myself, from everything, really. And now, now I'm here with you, and I just feel…I don't know, I just feel…"_

" _Happy?"_

" _But sometimes I feel like I don't deserve to be."_

The conversation was one he'd played over and over again in his head like some torturous symphony, every nuance of her features and her words picked apart. She'd looked so beautiful under the purple light of her portal, so beautiful and so sad as she stared at the stars and wondered aloud about how she'd thought about going nowhere yet being everywhere.

" _In the spaces between everything."_

Maybe that was what he'd seen in that alley. Maybe he'd seen her disappearing through the portal into that in-between space that he would ever be able to find, no matter how many walls he tore through. Maybe she'd finally gotten her wish after all…

Yet the thoughts brought him no comfort.

She was still gone and all he had now were the memories of a woman he could no longer hold and dreams of a future that never could be and they were almost worse than any nightmare his mind seemed fit to conjure.

Reality had always been so much crueler. Giving him love not once, but three times before ripping them all away. But not again. _Never_ again. Clarice would be the last person he loved.

The last person he'd fail.

He spun the tomahawk in his hand as that cold detachment started to sink in, easing the agony and the guilt in him by promising him an outlet for it in the coming morning. Promising him a way to accomplish his task and fulfill his need for payback in a way that would actually be useful to the upcoming fight and John didn't bother pushing back against the whispers.

Revenge wouldn't be what Clarice wanted, he knew that. She'd never ask him to kill in her name, never ask him to give up his morals. It wasn't who _she_ was. It wasn't who he was because no matter how bad things had gotten, he'd always had someone by his side to remind him of all he'd had to live for. Now he was broken and untethered from all that had held him back, the light that Clarice had embodied snuffed out when Turner had pulled the trigger.

The man had signed his death with Clarice's blood and he wouldn't live past tomorrow.

None of those Purifiers would.

They'd finally get the war they'd always wanted. They would see what a _real_ fight with mutants was all about, what happened when the people they'd call freaks and monsters and menaces had finally had enough. They would finally know what it felt like to be truly afraid, to _really_ fear for their lives, to be hunted down like animals.

John would make sure of that.

He didn't care if he damned himself in the process.

There was nothing left in him to save. Nothing left to redeem.

His heart had disappeared through that portal as well as every reason he had to come back. To come home. There was no home to be found in that apartment now. No light or happiness. Only memories and sensations remained, a minefield of his own making that tore into him like shrapnel and brought nothing but pain.

Droplets of water fell onto his skin and he closed his eyes, tilting his face up as it began to pour, not caring if the rain soaked through his clothes and plastered his hair to his neck. It wasn't like he could feel the cold anyway…

At that moment, there was something almost symbolic about standing in the midst of the storm, like the moniker he'd been given had come alive in the sky above his head, warning him of the fight to come and reminding him of his purpose as a leader and a soldier…

"I figured you'd still be up here."

 _Lorna._ He opened his eyes, not looking at her, "Where else would I be?"

She leaned against the ledge, "Sleeping maybe."

"I don't need sleep. I'm fine."

"The bags under your eyes say something else." She put a hand on his arm, squeezing until he felt it and looked at her. Her eyes roamed over his face, mouth pulling down at what ever she saw, "If you don't want to go back to your place, I'm sure Marcos wouldn't mind you coming over-"

"Lorna…"

"Or least let me get you some dry clothes." She pulled at the shirt sticking to his skin with a look that could only be described as motherly concern, "Just because you can't feel the cold…"

He bit back a sigh, "I don't want to be in the way."

"The three of us have shared smaller quarters before and you and I both know that Marcos wouldn't mind." She stepped back, holding out a hand, "So come on. You don't even have to sleep just…come inside."

He looked at her hand, then up at her. "Okay."

She waved the door open, "Let's go then."

Grabbing the tomahawk and stone, he followed her inside. He braved himself for the flashes of her, but it didn't completely block out the ache of seeing her in every step he took.

 _Her head thrown back in laughter…_

 _Her hand in his, head resting on his shoulder…_

 _Her fingers running through his hair…_

"John?"

Blinking, he shook his head and found himself hovering in the open doorway with Lorna looking over her shoulder from inside the apartment with concern as the rainwater created a puddle under him.

"You with me?"

He nodded, finally stepping over the threshold.

Clarice's presence wasn't as strong here, but it was still felt…

"I'll go grab some clothes from your place, alright?"

He nodded again, not really sure what to say as Lorna left and Marcos came into the living room. John was grateful Marcos didn't ask if he was alright or why he was soaking wet, just handed him a couple of towels without a word.

Lorna came back shortly after, holding out clothes. "Here you go."

"Thank you, for getting these."

She smiled at him sadly, knowing _why_ he'd avoided his apartment. "Go get changed."

Toeing off his boots, he made his way to the bathroom and a part of him felt guilty… _ashamed_ even because it felt like he was taking advantage of his friends, bringing all his problems into their home because he was too weak to deal with them on his own.

He pushed the thoughts aside, throwing the wet clothes into the tub and changing into the dry ones. He squeezed the excess water from his hair before hanging to the towel on the rack and walking back out into the living room.

Marcos had two mugs of coffee in hand, Lorna leaving a clear spot on the couch.

John felt slightly awkward under their scrutiny as he sat down, not realizing how long he'd been up on his feet until that until he nearly sighed in relief. He took the proffered mug from Marcos, no doubt drinking the scalding liquid too quickly if the shared look between the couple was anything to go by.

Marcos returned to the kitchen.

She tucked one leg underneath her, pulling a hair tie off her wrist, "Here."

He pulled his hair back, finally registered the knives and sharpening stone she'd set alongside his on the coffee table. John looked at them and then at her, the woman regarding him with an odd mix of humor and concern.

She motioned to the table, "Well, go on then."

"I thought you wanted me to sleep."

Lorna pulled the knives from their sheaths, "Who are we kidding? I don't think anyone is sleeping right now. And I know sharpening these calms me as much as it does you so I figured I'd get you inside, keep you dry and keep your hands busy."

He took his tomahawk and stone off the table, "I…I appreciate that Lorna."

She gave him a small smile.

Marcos came back out to the sight of them sharpening their weapons in silence. Leaning against the kitchen table, he watched them both for a couple heartbeats before finally speaking, "You guys do know how unnerving that is right?"

Lorna's laugh had John finally cracking a smile.

"You know, babe, you could always help me out."

"And cut up my hands? I'll pass." He leaned over the back of the couch, kissing her on the cheek and squeezing John's shoulder before standing. "I'll see you two in the morning then?"

Lorna nodded.

John cleared his throat, "Yeah…and thanks, Marcos."

Marcos smiled, "No thanks necessary, brother."

It was moments like this where he'd almost forgotten how well these two knew him, knew his mind in times like these. How sitting in companionable silence meant more to him than a forced conversation that would only frustrate them all.

They were his family…the few that remained anyways and he was not going to lose them like he lost everyone else. He would protect them all from becoming another casualty in this seemingly endless war. Lorna. Marcos. The Struckers.

John would make sure they lived through this find.

No matter what it cost him in the end.


	18. eMbrace

Takes place after 2x16

So that finale was insane and John's fight scene was just...wow. As for the ending of it though, I've decided to fix it and write the reunion that should've happened. So here you go! Let me know what you guys think!

* * *

The second he felt it, he was already on his feet.

He felt no pain as he ran out into the scrapyard, the others clambering after him.

The brilliant light of the flickering portals reflecting off the old metal of the scrapyard was almost too bright for his sensitive eyes. But he couldn't look away as the smaller portals opened disappeared only to be replaced by a larger one.

Then she stepped out and he knew he'd never look away again.

 _Gods…_

He could faintly hear the gasps and pounding hearts behind him, but he was frozen.

She stood feet from him, so vibrant and beautiful and _alive_.

 _Clarice was alive._

"Clarice?"

She turned, her serious countenance softening and brightening as she smiled at him. The shards of glass (light? energy?) vanished from her hands as she took a hesitant step toward him with shining eyes, "John…"

Like the spell had been broken, he moved, pulling her into his embrace.

A shudder went through her as she choked out a sob, arms winding around his neck.

He closed his eyes, his cheek pressed to her hair and _breathed_ for the first time in days. Her heartbeat was strong and steady, the sound like a balm to ringing ears still recovering from the barrage of gunfire and to the tattered remnants of his soul…

She smelled of ash and smoke, his mind feeding him images fiery skies and charred buildings, but that didn't matter at that moment. She was here. She was real, a body made of flesh and bone instead of echoes.

"I thought…" his voice cracked as his arms tightened around her, "I thought you were gone."

Clarice pulled back, taking his face in her trembling hands. Her eyes were drinking him in, her fingers running along the lines of his face and brushing away his tears. Her chin wobbled as the tears finally spilled down her face, "It's been so long..." she swallowed, staring at him like _he_ was the one back from the dead, " _God_ , I've missed you...so much."

Then they were kissing, the tangled knot of grief and guilt in his chest unraveling as her lips parted under his and one hand slid into her hair. All the static in his head vanished, all the noise and the flashes replaced by the sound of her breathing, the faint sensation of her silken hair through his fingers, the pressure of her hands on his neck, the smell of her skin...

She was the first to pull away, breathing ragged and face flushed.

 _So beautiful..._

He ran his thumb over her marks. This close, he could see new lines of worry on her face and pale scars that hadn't been there before...There was an air around her, too, one he knew all too well. The air of someone who'd had done and seen things that would never- could never- be voiced aloud and his heart ached for an entirely new reason.

He'd never wanted her to bear that burden alone.

He'd never wanted to see his shadows in her eyes.

"John?" she frowned, "What is it?"

He smiled, brushing her hair behind a pointed ear, "I can't just look at you?"

It was clear she could see through the question, but she just leaned into his touch.

There were so many things he wanted to say then, so many apologies he wanted to make, but all the words were suddenly trapped in his throat. He rested his forehead against hers instead and closed his eyes, knowing they weren't needed anyway.

She already knew.

Marcos cleared his throat.

Clarice stepped away with a wet laugh as she wiped her face, finally looking at all the others that had followed him. She was looking at them all with a mix of happiness and longing, the moment broken as Lauren ran forward.

John stepped aside as the girl plowed into Clarice, nearly knocking her off her feet.

She let out a surprised laugh, "Good to see you too, kid."

He watched as she greeted them all, pulling a reluctant Andy into a hug and shaking Esme's hand and embracing Lorna like they hadn't been on the opposite sides of a civil war and he still couldn't believe she was really back. That she was here.

The numbness of her return was fading, his chest and back throbbing from the worst of the injuries that hadn't completely healed yet. He clenched his jaw as the world tilted, John walking stiffly over to one of the old rusty car frames before anyone saw him sway, but the slow deliberate change of position hadn't been missed by Caitlyn.

She moved over to him silently with a worried frown.

He shook his head.

But she just came closer, "You should be sitting down, John. You're still healing."

He thought about saying he was fine, but one look at the woman's face and he didn't have the heart to turn her away again. He'd heard Lauren and Andy crying through the walls as they mourned their father, heard her choked screams as she woke up screaming her husband's name in the middle of the night.

He knew there was nothing he could say that would ease that loss, that would fill the space Reed had been ripped violently from…nothing really would, but he could give her something to do, someone to take care of, even if a large part of him disliked being that person… John nodded. "Okay."

She managed a small smile, "You're being unusually cooperative."

He huffed out a breath, "I've learned it's better not to argue with you."

"You need any help?"

He let out a long breath as he straightened, "No, I'm good. I'll just-" He trailed off when Clarice approached them, his senses painting a blurry picture of her concerned expression and the questioning look she gave Caitlyn. John turned, wanting to actually _see_ her with his eyes, his muscles spasming at the sudden movement.

"Marcos told me of the little stunt you pulled." She ran an eye over him, eyebrows knitting together as she reached out to lift up the hem of his shirt to reveal the white bandages hidden underneath. "Were you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

He opened his mouth.

"Don't answer that." There was a flash of light, a clear glassy shard appearing in her hand. "Are the apartments still good or…?"

"I can walk back to the building, Clarice." He smiled, "It's just right there."

She twirled the shard between her fingers with a teasing pout, "You don't want my help?"

"I don't need a portal," he reached up, thumb running over her cheek, "just you."

"Aw, you're sweet," the light flickered out in her hand before she placed it over his and gave him a quick kiss. She stepped back with a smile as he tried to chase her mouth, "but I'm still mad at you."

He brushed his lips over her knuckles in response.

She cleared her throat, tugging at his hand, "Come on then, let's go."

John was surprised to find the others, including Caitlyn, had drifted off to give them space even though he knew they probably had about a million questions for Clarice. He guided them over to one of the mattresses they managed to scrounge from the apartment tucked into a corner, away from prying eyes.

She dug through the already waiting first aid kit, "Sit."

He shrugged out of his jacket, lifting his arms as she pulled off his shirt.

Clarice cut away the gauze and peeled away the bandages, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of the bruises and half-healed bullet wounds littering his back and chest. Her fingers hovered over a cluster of them over his heart, "Jesus, John…"

He waited for her to get mad at him for risking his life, for throwing himself into yet another hopeless situation with no regard for his own life, but he was surprised when she only let out a long ragged breath and continued to reapply the bandages and gauze.

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she finally finished, "How long has it been?"

"About two weeks."

She let out a choked sound and tensed, not looking at him.

"Clarice?" He lifted her face, her tears sending another pang through him, "What is it?"

Something shattered in those brilliant green eyes, Clarice throwing herself in his arms with a broken sob. She buried her face into his neck, her entire body shuddering as he pulled her in without a word.

He kissed her hair, another round of fire and ash and burnt bodies flashing through his mind complete with the sight of Clarice throwing spears of light into the shadows as rage burned in her teary eyes as she screamed…

His heart gave another violent lurch and he tightened his hold on her, ignoring the full body ache as he rocked her back and forth, murmuring reassurance in a tongue he hadn't spoken since he'd left the reservation. "I'm here. I'm right here."

"Where I was…what I need to show you all, it's…it's horrible." She pulled in a shaky breath, "I was there, God it felt like an eternity. I tried to get back and at first, I couldn't do that. So I tried to find someone… _anyone_ , but you were all gone. Lorna and Marcos and Erg and the Struckers and…" she swallowed, pulling back to take his face in her hands, "and _you._ There was no one left. I was all alone."

His fingers curled lightly around her arm. "How…how long were you there?"

"Over a year."

 _Gods…_ He held her gaze for only a split second before drawing her into a kiss, channeling everything he couldn't say; all the grief and the guilt and the pain and the apologies and the love… He poured everything he was into it, grounding her to him, to the now, and reassuring himself at the same time.

"I love you, Clarice." He murmured against her lips, "I love you so much."

The light returned to her expression as she brushed a thumb over his mouth. Her eyes ran over every line of his face, her lips curling into a beautiful smile he'd never thought he'd seen again. "I love you too. I never stopped."

He knew the news she carried would bring everything crashing down again, would bring another enemy, another fight, another war…but that could all wait for just a little bit longer. He wanted to _hold_ her, kiss her, _be_ with her…and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Everything else, in that moment, would just have to wait.

* * *

This will probably be the last piece of this series for now, but will still be updating the new AU and Stars on Our Knuckles.


	19. entoMb

AU after 2x10

 **Warnings of major character death, depression, suicidal thoughts, mentions of bipolar disorder, mentions of torture, and violence.**

I have no idea why I even wrote this. This idea wouldn't leave me be so I wrote almost 4k words in two days and it was an emotional two days at that (I cried at least four times). So I apologize for the feels that this piece will no doubt bring, but let me know what you guys think!

* * *

" _I'm going to hunt every single one of your friends and they're all going to die."_

John lifted his head, staring down the barrel of Jace Turner's shotgun. He didn't flinch as the gun was cocked and his ringing ears registered the sound of the bullet sliding into the chamber and he remembered the old saying: you never hear the bullet that kills you.

He knew that, at that moment, he was one of the unlucky ones.

John closed his eyes, the faces of all those he loved flashing through his mind: his mother, James, Marcos, Lorna, Gus, Sonya, Clarice…Their laughter, their smiles, their conversations, and their _love_ numbing the agony of the buckshot.

 _I'm sorry._

He opened his eyes, staring down Jace as his finger tightened on the trigger.

 _BANG!_

…

Lorna stood with Marcos and the Struckers, anxiously watching for them to exit the compound, her fingers tightening around the hilt of the knife. She'd been so focused on the front of the building, the sight of the back blowing out in an explosion of concrete, wood, and metal nearly had her stumbling back.

Caitlyn and Reed were screaming at Marcos as he looked through the binoculars when Lorna felt a strange coldness swept over her at the realization that she knew those powers. _Andy._ She knew just how devastating his anger could be, but this…

Something had gone wrong.

 _Horribly_ wrong.

Without saying anything, she lifted herself from the ground and flew to the building faster than she'd ever done, propelled by a feeling she didn't have a name for, ignoring the others calling out for her.

Setting her feet back on the ground, she was running through the compound when she heard the unmistakable sound of Clarice screaming and it was like a sucker punch to the chest because there was only one thing that…

She found the room, tucked into the back of the building that was now nothing but debris and came to the doorway. The sight had her nearly collapsing as a scream of rage, of grief, started bubbling in her throat. "No…"

Lauren was clinging to her brother, arms wrapped around him as he trembled while Clarice cradled John's head in her lap, sobbing and screaming his name as her hands tried to shake a bullet ridden body that was no longer moving. No longer _breathing_.

Lorna could feel the bullets in him, every _single_ one and as she came closer, her knees finally gave out as she reached his side, ignoring the blood soaking through her clothes as shaking hands rested over his silent heart. The stone skin was still warm…

 _They'd been so close…_

A sob tore from her throat, metal rattling, "No…"

Electric green eyes met hers and the anger and the worry in them was gone, replaced by something that had no words. She was shattered. Empty. Broken. There was no point in being angry anymore and Lorna felt the woman's grief slice through her like one of her own knives, cutting her open and leaving her to bleed out next to a man she'd owed so much to…

She looked down at his face, stiffening at the sight of his vacant eyes looking at her. A small part of her was waiting for him to blink, to come back to himself as though he'd only perceived an oncoming threat, that he was still alive because John couldn't die. He couldn't. It just wasn't possible…

She'd had nightmares of this early on, during her worst depression phases, where her hands would pass through him and he would disappear, crumble and blow away like smoke, leaving nothing of him behind…

But unlike her nightmares, he was solid under her hand as she reached up to close his eyes. The gesture was automatic even though she knew the sight would haunt her for the rest of her life, an image seared into her mind that no telepath would ever be able to erase.

She tried to recall the last words she'd said to him, but the memories were distant, foggy…

 _What did it matter now?_

She'd never be able to make it up to him. Not now.

Not ever again.

The coldness was suddenly replaced by an anger she hadn't felt since she'd been taken by Sentinel Service, Lorna crumpling the weapon that had killed him with a wordless scream, the rest of the lights and electronics in the whole building exploding with bursts of sparks that had the others jumping.

She threw the ball of metal as far away as she could before turning back to face Clarice and almost hated herself for asking the woman to leave John's side, knowing her own reaction if anyone had asked her to leave Marcos… "Can you…can you make a portal to the fence?"

A spark returned in her eyes, "I'm not leaving him!"

"We're not." Lorna's forcibly calm voice cracked, "But we can't move him on our own and..." she trailed off, looking down to find the gleam of his dog tags through the bloody remnants of his tank top as well as the small beaded pouch. Her eyes slipped closed. She needed to find his brother, contact his mother…"He deserves a proper burial, Clarice."

Clarice visibly flinched, but somehow stood. "Lauren could you…?"

The girl looked so shell-shocked, glancing between her brother and Clarice and Lorna and John before she set her jaw and nodded. She squeezed Andy's shoulders once as the portal opened and she stepped through.

Lorna steeled herself as Marcos and the Struckers came through, but it didn't fully prepare her for their horrified expressions nor the heat that exploded from Marcos like a dying star as he fell next to Lorna.

"I'm…" he choked out, " _lo siento, hermano. Lo siento."_

She looked up, seeing Caitlyn clinging to Reed as she sobbed, the man meeting her eyes and was surprised at the steel in his gaze. Lorna knew she wouldn't have to explain what she was asking of them and she was thankful for that.

"Could one of you find a…a long sheet of metal that I can use to…?" she trailed off again, looking down at John. A small voice reminded her that he had enough metal in him to…her stomach lurching violently, sick as the thought. " _Please_."

Clarice returned to her place at his head, resting her forehead against his.

Lorna didn't have the heart to move her.

With the help of Marcos, they were able to create a sheet of mismatched metal from the torn apart building and equipment. Lorna was both saddened and impressed as Lauren lifted his body just enough for them to slide the metal underneath.

She turned back to Clarice, "Can you…?"

The woman stood, almost mechanically, and opened a portal directly into one of the jeeps.

Marcos squeezed her shoulder, "Can you do this?"

She nodded, "I have to."

No one commented on her shaking hands or tear streaked face as she lifted her friend's body into the back of the jeep, Clarice sending the Struckers and Marcos ahead before turning to Lorna with a hard look that was betrayed by her own tears.

"So you gonna crawl back to the Inner Circle or what?"

"No." Lorna was surprised by how resolute she sounded. She looked down at the ground soaked with his blood, blood that should've never been shed in the first place and she knew she wasn't the only one blaming themselves for John's death. "I can't, not after…"

Clarice sighed, "He never gave up on you or Andy, you know that?"

"Yeah," Lorna managed a hollow laugh, "he was stubborn like that."

Her responding smile was brittle and broke apart with a choked sound.

Lorna wrapped her arms around the woman, allowing herself to crumble as well, if only for a moment. They couldn't stay in this compound any longer and the thought of even being away from the others was painful, "We need to go, alright?"

Clarice swallowed thickly and nodded, opening a portal.

Marcos pulled her into a tight hug.

She curled her fingers into his shirt, soaking in his warmth for only a couple more seconds before stepping back and wiping the tears, finally noticing that he had put the Struckers in the other jeep. She watched Clarice climb into the back of the other. "What now?"

He cleared his throat, "We need to…we need to regroup. Get back to the scrape yard."

Lorna nodded, "Okay."

"And I…I need to go talk to Evangeline."

She frowned.

"I know you're not a big fan, but she can get us into contact with James." Marcos knew, as well as Lorna, just how elusive the younger Proudstar was. The woman was one of the few who actually kept in contact with him besides… "He deserves to say goodbye to his brother."

 _Brother._

She shuddered at the word. "Okay."

Marcos slid into the driver's seat.

Lorna closed the passenger side door behind her, looking in the rearview where Clarice had drawn his head into her lap, her violet hair a curtain as she bowed her head, but she could still see the fingers running through dark hair and shoulders shaking with silent tears, still hear the broken whispers…

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm so sorry." She sobbed, "I didn't mean all those things I said…I never meant to hurt you. I love you…I love you so much."

An invisible knife twisted in Lorna's stomach, her own fingers digging into her thighs as she bowed forward. It was like Clarice had pulled the words from her mind, drawing the grief and the guilt out of her.

 _I'm sorry brother._ She wanted to say. _I didn't keep our promise._

 _I failed you._

…

Lorna spent nearly an hour pulling every single pellet from his skin one by one, even though she knew she could've pulled them all out a once. _It wasn't like he could feel it anyway._ She shook her head, hating the thoughts even as she counted the pellets. It was like she wanted to torture herself with the number, to remind herself of what she hadn't been there to stop.

Caitlyn stayed by her side until she was done, cutting away the ruined fabric and wiping away the blood with steady, gentle hands until only pocketed tan skin remained and Marcos, Reed, and Clarice came in shortly after to dress him in clean clothing.

The room was silent as Lorna tied the leather pouch around his neck and set them over his heart along with the dog tags. Shaking fingers lingered over the softness of the single eagle feather and the smoothness of the turquoise beads…

She stepped back into Marcos' arms, her hand firmly in Clarice's, the woman leaning into her side and staring at John with a hollow expression. Lorna couldn't stop her eyes from following her gaze because, even in death, John just had this presence around him.

The Struckers moved forward to say their goodbyes, Caitlyn's eyes shown with tears as she rested her hand against his cheek and combed dark hair from his face before pressing her lips to his forehead. "Thank you for protecting my family, for protecting us all. I hope you finally find peace, John. You deserve it."

Lorna's hand tightened in Marcos' as Clarice sobbed.

Reed was silent at his wife's side, but the tears spoke louder than any words.

Lauren and Andy were next, hand in hand, looking every bit like the kids they were.

Andy's jaw was clenched so tightly it was a wonder the whole room wasn't shaking and Lauren, like her mother, reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry we didn't get there in time." She swallowed back the tears, "But I promise you, John, you didn't die in vain. We will continue this fight, just like you taught us to."

Something in Lorna hardened at the words, remembering Caitlyn's anger as seeing her children turned into soldiers. Now the woman was watching her children with an expression that was a painful mix of determination and resignation, gently pulling them away as they left the room.

Marcos pulled away, going to stand by John's side, his head bowed.

Lorna had barely registered the prayer when a commotion sounded at the front of the building, drawing her knives as Marcos' hands began to glow and she saw a flash of purple hair as Clarice came behind them.

The door swung open.

She immediately sheathed her knives at the sight of James Proudstar standing in the doorway, look haggard and painfully young. She felt Marcos drawing Clarice back, explaining in a low voice what was going on and she too moved away.

It had been years since she'd seen James, shortly after they'd began building the Underground, she remembered his anger at his older brother and the fight that had broken out when John's patience had finally run out. It was the first time she'd seen him truly angry…

"James…"

He held up a hand, walking over to his brother.

She watched him he place a hand on his forehead, murmuring words in a language John had rarely spoken. Lorna recognized the stiffening of his shoulders and the cocking of his head to the side and what it meant, something cold settling in her chest at the realization that he was seeing what had happened to John in his final moments…

James stumbled back, turning furious eyes on Lorna, " _You_."

Lorna shook her head as Marcos went to intercede. "James-"

"He died because of _you_!" His voice rose, even as tears trailed down his face, "That man saw you and Marcos and snapped. Said John was lying and shot him three times!" he stepped toward her until her back hit the wall, "My brother is dead and it's _your fault!_ "

He slammed his hands on either side of her head, the drywall cracking.

She flinched, more from the words than his actions. It was a confirmation of the words her guilty conscious had repeated over and over again since she'd stumbled into that room. She was a cause of her friend's death.

John would be alive if it wasn't for her.

That coldness was spreading through her, filling her veins with ice and her mind with voices and whispers until she was frozen to the spot. She'd been teetering on the razor's edge of losing her carefully maintained equilibrium and she could feel herself slipping.

Marcos opened his hands, nearly blinding everyone, "That's _enough!_ "

Lorna blinked, cleared the spots from her visions.

"Your brother wouldn't want us fighting each other, you know that. If anyone's to blame, it's the man that pulled the trigger." Marcos worked his jaw, glancing at John before tearing his eyes away. "So, can you tell us who did it?"

"Turner. One of the men said Turner."

Clarice sucked in a sharp breath, swaying.

Marcos' eyes flared gold and the metal in the room began to rattle, Lorna forced herself to calm down as the table John laid on shook. She swallowed back her scream, reaching past James to steady a suddenly ashen Clarice.

She should've killed him when she had the chance.

"I'm taking it you know him?"

"Yes." Marcos' voice was cold despite the heat rolling off him in waves and his eyes were hard as he glanced at all of them in turn before settling on James. "He's the head of the damn Purifiers and he's wanted us dead for a long time. Can you help us find him?"

James' expression shifted, "As if you had to ask."

…

In the end, Jace Turner hadn't stood a chance.

Lorna had taken the chains that had held John in that chair, wrapping them around the man and tightening them until he screamed. She felt Marcos, James, and Clarice behind her as she leaned forward, "Did you really think you would be able to get away with what you did?"

He struggled against the chains, eyes wide with fear.

"My brother…had this vision of the world." James spoke calmly, despite the sounds of struggling and pain. His eyes, so much like John's, seemed so fathomless as he crouched, full of so much anger, so much grief…"See, while you may have read his file, you never knew a fucking _thing_ about John."

Lorna watched a shadow pass over his face.

"He lost more people than you will ever know and not once, _not_ once, did he take out that anger on others. All he ever wanted was to make sure no one else would ever feel that loss. To protect others from it…"

Clarice sucked in a sharp breath, Marcos drifting to her.

"And now I have to go back to my mother and tell her that her son is dead." James' smile was empty and cold as he leaned forward. "So congratulations, Jace. I'm sure your daughter will be proud of you killing innocents in her name."

His eyes narrowed, "He wasn't innocent…none of you are!"

Lorna had a knife in her hand before he'd even finished speaking, "He was. Unlike you."

No one said anything as the blade sank into the man's throat with a sickening _thunk_ or the spray of blood that followed. Lorna let the chains go, watching impassively as the body fell to the ground, lifeless as the pool of red grew…

She felt nothing in those seconds, not relief or disgust, just…nothing.

" _You're not a killer, Lorna…this isn't why the X-Men chose us!"_

John's pleas hit her chest like a battering ram and she sucked in a sharp breath as the emotions flooded back, determined not to cry right now. She pulled the knife back into her hand, wiping it clean on rumpled bedsheets before sliding it back into its sheath, "You said there was no one else in the building?"

James nodded.

She turned to Marcos, "Burn it down."

Clarice opened a portal to the parking lot and they all watched as the building went up in flames from the rearview mirror and Lorna wished she could feel anything other than the black hole in her chest, sucking in everything it could. Maybe she would be lucky and it would finally swallow her whole…

Clarice's voice was brittle, "What do we do now?"

James was the one who responded, "Now we take my brother home."

…

The red rock. The open skies. The blazing heat.

Arizona was everything and nothing like Lorna had pictured it.

It was beautiful and daunting in a way only nature could be and she could easily see John sitting next to her, tan skin glowing in the sunlight as the wind lifted his hair from the rolled down window…she shook her head as the jeep hit another bump and she felt Marcos squeeze her hand.

Clarice sat up in the passenger seat while James regaled them all with stories of him and John's childhood. Her green eyes were still heavy with grief, but her lips twitched every now and then with the ghost of a smile.

He grew quiet and the jeep began to slow before finally coming to a stop.

Lorna barely had a chance to take in the home when an older woman ran out into the driveway and threw her arms around James and her stomach lurched at how hopeful she looked as she took his face in her hands and spoke to him, glancing at the truck like John was going to step out.

She could practically hear the woman's heart shatter as she fell to her knees.

Clarice sucked in a ragged breath, bowing her head and Lorna suddenly couldn't _breathe_ , a hand curling around her throat. She had to get out of the truck, away from Clarice and Marcos' grief, away from the metal coffin that held her best friend…

The door swung open with a _bang,_ her knees hitting the ground in a cloud of dust.

"Lorna!"

" _Tell her that I'll come back for her…and tell her she's special."_

She'd never felt Dawn's absence from her so acutely until the moment John's mother realized her son was never going to smile at her again, that she was never going to be able hold him, hear his voice…

She was faintly aware of Clarice and Marcos at her sides, pulling her up to feet despite their own grief, but it wasn't until she felt warm, weathered hands cup her face that she finally lifted her head.

John's eyes stared out from the woman's face, all kind warmth and concern. She glanced at Marcos and Clarice in turn, not looking the least bit phased at the rattling metal or Clarice's eyes. She smiled sadly at them all, pulling each of them into a hug before finally stepping back. "Can I see my son?"

Lorna managed a nod, unlatching the back of the Jeep and lifting the long metal box with care onto the ground at their feet. She took a moment the follow the elegant and beautiful lines of the coffin Marcos had taken such care in making before trembling hands unlatched the lid and moved it aside.

The woman put one hand to her mouth she knelt in the dirt, the other reaching out with fingers almost hesitantly over his face that had remained remarkably untouched from the buckshot and when she finally touched his cheek, the tears broke free as she began murmuring words over and over again in that beautiful, old language.

Lorna should've turned away, the moment too raw, too _much_ for her to handle but she was stopped by a hand on her wrist.

She held Lorna's eyes, looking next at Marcos and Clarice. "I know how dangerous it was for you all…to come here and I want to say thank you, for loving him, for bringing him home to us. We can lay him to rest with his ancestors and he will finally be at peace."

The words were an echo of Caitlyn's and Lorna swallowed back tears. She hoped they were both right. She hoped that he would finally, _finally_ be at peace now. After all the hell he'd endured, all the wars he'd fought, it was the least he deserved.

She tried not to think of the war _they_ still had to fight, of Reeva and the Inner Circle.

She looked over at Marcos, remembering the promise they'd made all those years ago, and straightened her shoulders. Lorna may have failed him in life, but she refused to fail him in death.

They would keep going, keep fighting, as he would.

 _I love you, shilah…thank you._

Her eyes snapped down to John as his voice sounded in his head and she smiled for the first time since she'd stepped onto that compound. While she'd never taken much on faith, something in her _knew_ he would always be by her side, with Marcos and Clarice.

She looked back up at his mother, "He already is."


End file.
